Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tripping, falling - Stumbling. Shadow and Maria ran in the chaotic blur. One, two, one, two - They counted in rhythm with their breath. 

“Don’t stop…Keep g-going!” Maria’s voice cracked as her hold on Shadows' wrist tightened. His inhibitor rings clicking like their pounding heart, like every bang of the speakers screaming in alarm. 

Shadow trailed behind her hurriedly, his calves burning with fatigue and absolute terror - the kind that clawed into the walls of his veins. It was draining, ravenous and mortifyingly startling as it left him almost paralysed. Almost. But as he is currently, Shadow couldn’t freeze, couldn’t stall.

The hallway suddenly flashed red. 

“Faster!” Shadow tried to keep up. The horror maze they ran, flashing between bright and dark. Like a defense system had been triggered. And despite the obvious conviction upon his sister's face, he felt her strength dwindle. He sensed how it started to leak from her pores. 

Inhumanly possible, Maria dug her feet in and twirled them around a corner. Their speed unyielding to the bends as the key to their escape dangled in her frail finger. Shadow glanced at it, then up to her before he caught a glimpse. A graphite nose of a hollow vessel pointed at them from the end of the hall. 

A gun. 

Shadow instinctively knew what it was. “Get down!” He hardened his feet as his yell burst above the drums of the sirens.

Yanking his hand free, he grabbed a hold of the back of Maria's dress. The skirt of it flying up around her in a cloud as she dropped into his hold. And like he was in a race against time, he flew into the first line of protection. The door to a room beside them which groaned as it gave in under the ferocity of his air shoes. 

It flopped and slammed to the ground in a cluttered yelp. The hinges, squeaking as they collapsed and as his quills shook like dead leaves in the wind. He felt a graze -  a bullet - on his spine, but squaring it, Shadow deflected it into an opposite wall. The shudder as it drove into the concrete making Maria scream and clutch him harder. 

He skidded as they landed inside, his shoes leaving a burnt scent and tire marks on the clinical floors. 

Setting her up in Mach speed, Shadow reversed backwards and with the key he plucked from her hand he slotted it into the keypad built into the metallic frames of the wall. The second shield coming open. And he couldn’t be anymore glad as he pushed her in and slammed the re-enforced barrier behind them shut.

Rapid fire rained down as it locked them in. 

“Shadow,” Maria gasped, slightly whiplashed. “Who are those men?” Her face was pale, soaked with salted tears and sweat. Her chest rattled audibly like a persistent neighbour and her eyes were widened in fear. And they had always been big, blue and innocent to Shadow, but it was everything but okay as she slowly blinked. Clearly exhausted - seeped of all the energy she exerted in a crazed adrenaline sprint. 

Curse her disease - Shadow gritted silently as he momentarily scanned her. His gloved fingers already soothing her down for red spots where puncture wounds could have been. He didn’t see anything, couldn’t feel her flinch as he stroked the complexion of her cheek like feathers. “Maria-” 

She leaned down as she pressed her lips flat. Worry like a veil ravelling down and over her as she gulped. “I-I’m okay.” She assured him quickly with wet eyes. Her quivering hand clasping over his. 

But what now? They seemed to convey in the silence ensued. The answer unfound in the stagnant air…as they looked to the door. 

“I’m sorry, I reacted without thinking.” Shadow hummed sincerely as he turned back. “My speed…I forgot that humans-” He rapped in concern looking her over again. But, Maria quickly shook her head as though her knees weren’t threatening to buckle, as if she didn’t feel every urge screaming at her to black out. 

“You did what was right.” she smiled as she shakily whispered. “But, what about you? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” It was her turn to fuss and Shadow couldn’t help himself from blushing as she forcefully spun him around. 

“S-Stop that. I’m fine too, see?” He swatted at her gently then misdirected her hands back into his. 

She seemed to find it funny. He was stuck as to how in this situation she could, but even still, a small giggle slipped past her teeth. A highpitch trill that made her shoulders jiggle. A smile was back on her face - a small, but still very genuine and Maria-like one. And even though he was uncertain, he smiled too because he was doing a good job distracting her. 

He helped her sit despite her light protest against it then. He could see the colour draining from her shade by shade and he didn’t like it. 

But as she opens her mouth when she settles, her eyebrows furrow. She's anxious - it was clear. Shadow didn’t know how to comfort her when a round of fists started coming across the glass of the door, though.

The men were here. 

It was a pair of them, then three. Four, five - more and more as the door held up. It didn’t take many minutes for them to realise their efforts were useless though before they opened shells across the shield. The empty cases falling like coins. And Maria shivered as she covered her ears, Shadows' own pinched to the side of his head as he glared at them. 

“We’re surrounded.” he murmured to himself. Stashing every clue and noted importance of the room into the back of his mind. He could use some of this if it came down to it.

He gazed at something in particular for only the briefest moment. 

Maria gasped when the green uniforms pivoted an explosive against the door. 

“The door is re-enforced. They can’t get through.” Shadow knelt down to her level and patted her shoulder as he attempted to pacify her fear. “Only chaos can break it.” He added weight to his words as he dropped a tiny lie in there. 

The explosive goes off. The door remains intact. Maria is slowly coming apart by the seams as she rambles “But, what if-” And she was right. A lot less is required to shatter the only thing separating them from the danger. He would continue to deny it, however, if it reduced her worry by even a hair. 

“Deep breaths.” He recalled one of his sessions. Practised inhales and exhales when emotions surge. He could help her this way - yes, he guided her carefully. “Even if it breaks, you have me. Remember? I’m the ultimate lifeform.” He reminded her while also repeating his counts. 

“S-Shadow, I’m scared.” She admitted with red rimmed eyes. Her lips trembling and her hands grasped onto his golden rings  - like they were a lifeline. Like it was the only solid thing in the midst of her crumbling fear. 

“I know.” He lowered his voice, the sharp edge of it softening into something rarely heard - gentler, almost tender. “I know.” He repeated so she knew. That despite his poor effort to make it known, he cared. 

But abruptly, like it heard them, the glass cracked as the hundredth bullet crashed on its surface. 

“They’re going to get in.” He sighed, then told her monotone. He had to be calm. For her. His hands wrapped over her wet cheeks. “So, I need you to listen to me really closely, okay?” he tensed reflexively as he heard the slither of the crack widen. 

“Wait, what?” She flicked her eyes around Shadow to see the cobweb spreading on the glass. 

“Can you trust me?” Shadow asked as he tilted her chin back. “I need you to trust me.” he glanced at the thing he hoped he could’ve left alone. 

She diverted her attention from the enemy back onto her brother. Her expression smothered with dread as she failed to ignore the noise of breakage. And his anger burned. Simmered like boiled over blood, because in no world could he stand the tears streaking her face. Shadow was furious. 

“What are you planning?” she wanted to know, but he didn’t have the heart to say as he hushed her. His arm, coming to sooth over the bridge of hers as he looked around the room again. A glare permanently plastered to his thinking face. 

It was ironic they ended up trapped here. In a plain, sterile whiteness that Shadow couldn’t be more familiar with. His room - his lab - his…home really. He hated the eggshell, bone paint that was scratched up and dirtied over the years. The coffee stain on his cushion booster, the wires that acted like his chandelier. He hated it all, but he also realised that this room may also be their salvation. 

The cryochamber smiled back at him in temptation. His bed, essentially - jotted out from the ground and open like it was prepared for them. 

It was big enough, he concluded. It’d have to work - he assisted Maria to stand as the traitorous thought rushed through his head. 

“Shadow?” She whispered to grab his attention, but he was fixed to other things. The lightbulb flickering with the men's thrusts at the door, the coloured buttons blurring across the machine.  

And he couldn’t fault it when his silky quills twitched like they were trying to persuade him to…reconsider. 

But what else could he do? He knows this room. It was his only known for many years. And it is why he also knows that the only way in, is the only way out. 

He slowly pulls her to the cryo. Maria’s steps, hesitant. 

He’d met her here two years ago. In this very room. 

“Shadow.” She tries again.

But, he had been the one behind the glass that time. 

Time was edging to an end. His sand of possibilities slipping by the second. “I want you to trust me, Maria. Just this once. Only this once.” he withheld a wince as he made the painful decision. His free fist, balled tight behind his back - the plea weighing heavier than ever. 

He never begged. He didn’t think he ever could, or would. But he will beg now. 

Whatever it takes.

“Shadow…” She said and he feared to look as an accepting smile awaited. Her dimples, born deep into her cheek like rivets in a road. They had always been a special part of her, a thing he loved. “I…” 

She looked at the cryo-chamber, then back to him. And surprising him, her shoulders relaxed from their uptight tension. The firing onslaught just barely in the background as all faded - the two of them the moment. “I understand…”

It was just them. Everyone and the world against them as she lifted her arms and pulled him to her chest. Her words, a hiccup as she buried her face into his fur. “My best little brother, I’ve trusted you since the day we met, don’t you know that?” and he cannot handle it as she chokes. His arms coming up and around her, too. And he feels as she returns the tightness even though his quills poke her. 

Why was she saying goodbye? 

He heard it somewhere hidden in her intention. 

“Don’t.” He tried to move but she held strong. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She seems to hear his thoughts. “I’ll be right where you left me.” 

The door splinters further as another bullet hits it square in the middle.

And, Shadow suddenly feels the need to take everything back. To refute, to back-track. No, there must be another way - an alternative. A better solution to this. He tries to pull back again, but he fears hurting her with his synthetic strength. 

Instead she reminisces to his confusion: “Remember-” and he does. He remembers all of it as she retells their story. 

The tap of a glass in the close distance of the past made his eyes shoot open. He sees the memory of her blurred figure like it was crystalised. He sees blues, yellows - mainly blues as she talks but he hears nothing. She had waited, watched in speciation and he’d despised it. Another one - he thought.

Until she rushed away.

That’s the end of it - he thought. 

Until she returned - Now, pen in hand and smirking in mischief. But what he hadn’t expected from the new face, was that she’d uncap the drawing tool and use it to sketch a rabbit around his face. On the glass of course, but on his face none-the-less. 

The drawing was amazing…good? Not that he had anything to compare it to, but it was delicate. Strange…the strokes done quickly and shakily. He’d been pleased but had refused to let it be shown. His stubbornness forever a part of him and he’d glared, even bared his teeth. Untrusting of the girl he didn’t recognise.

Never trust the humans - he’d learned the hard way.  

He chose at that moment that he was done entertaining the child for its amusement, and had spun around in the liquid engulfing him. Yet - she’d given chase. Her laughter muffled, but there in the murk as he kept turning. 

Something about the sound made him stop and face her. 

Her hand was pressed to the glass, her fingers evenly spread. He’d stared confused, off-put really, but she’d silently gestured that he should mimic her; he did. 

It made her go, and he was okay with that. Quiet farewells on his mind's mouth as she left smiling words he still couldn’t hear through the bubbles in the green substance.

Later he found out she was Gerald Robotnik's granddaughter. “Her name’s Maria. Isn’t she the prettiest?” The man had grinned trying to convince Shadow of her angelic qualities. 

He’d hoped that he wouldn’t see her again though. She’d made him feel…weird. In his chest. He crossed his fingers that that was the last of her, but he was thoroughly mistaken. 

“What are you doing here, Sweetheart? You know you can’t come in here.” Gerald Robotnik ‘scolded’. If anything - he gently cooed like he was a momma bird and with his wings he’d flapped her out with a kiss on the cheek. But before she left he saw her - the eyebags above her cheek slightly darker than last time. More prominent and heavy under the shining blues. Her smile was just a tad unenthusiastic, but still very alive as she nagged to be left alone. 

She came back again, and again and again after that. No matter what lock and barricade they came up with - Maria always found a way into Shadows room uninvited. Undoubtedly every single day. 

Her presence first felt like a burden - an annoying persistence that tried to excite him. Then when she noticed that didn’t work - she became a shadow. A…silent company in the corners where she played. She would trail in at an unknown hour, sit and then hang about before she left on her own. It was…weird. Like the feeling in his chest every time she walked in. 

He used all the energy he had left outside of chaos training to ignore her. But secretly, he eyed her toys. Covering the act of pushing himself off his booster to get a closer look for adjusting his tail when she turned. 

She started sneaking in at times he wouldn’t have doctors monitoring him, too.  Her dress dyed like the oceans on earth. 

“Miss, Robotnik. This is the third time this week.” A nurse grabbed the book from her hand, snapped it shut single handedly and ushered the child to go. Shadow was silently humoured at the dejection on the girl, as he felt her come face to face with the fact that she’d have to leave despite Shadow's persistent refusal to reciprocate an interaction. Her eyes were cress-fallen. Like she’d heard the worst news in her life. 

So, she stuck to authorized visits only. Well- not really supervised, or authorised because the girl wasn’t supposed to spend time with a lifeforce like Shadow at all. But well, Dr Robotnik let it slide so the rest like sheep followed. And day by day as Maria saw them turn a blind eye, she came closer and closer. Until one day she was only an arms length away. 

“Do you want to play with me?”   she worked up the courage to ask. She literally shook like she’d combust as she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed a doll into Shadows face to grab - should he accept. But he’d flinched. Unexpecting their mutual silence to be broken.

That day she’d been clothed in wool, a fleece that slightly brushed him. He’d found it odd - it’d been a particularly warm day even with his shedding fur. But he didn’t pay the coat too much mind as he lingered on the doll. On its awkward statue of bent limbs which she quickly adjusted when she saw him look. 

Her gaze danced around the room nervously as she bit the inside of her cheek. Shadow prolonged silence conveying his answer as he smoothed down his disarrayed quills. But despite his decline, she now - for whatever reason - was brave enough to ask again, and again and again every single day.

She no longer feared his rejection as she got used to it. 

And his avoidance of her became harder, and harder and harder each encounter. His resistance, flaking in light of his need to know how the velvet skirt of the brunette doll feels. 

Until the calendar flips to the month of January, and he finally plucks it from her hand when she asks without hesitation. Her cheer barely shushed as her joy leaked out. 

“What’s your name stranger?” 

Shadow was stumped. The girl didn’t know and…bothered to ask. He was more surprised than anything, though. “You’ve come to visit…a lot. You did that without knowing anything, not even my name?” 

He was always referred to by a sequence of numbers, by insults or active project cases. He didn’t know how to answer this question proposed really…he’d accumulated so many titles that felt wrong. Only…Only one felt right. 

“I didn’t want to know unless you wanted me to.”  she shrugged and he was perplexed. “Oh, and I’m Maria by the way!”

“You do have a name, don’t you?”   She added as an afterthought. Carefully asking with sensitivity as her waist bent to lean closer. Curiosity in her gaze, but a mature patience and understanding overwhelming the urge to demand it out of him too. And Shadow contemplated on how and if he should respond. 

“I’m Shadow.”  He decided…to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

“Woah, that's your name? So cool!” he reared back as she jumped up. “Nice to finally meet you!” 

And from then on, they became inseparable. Two peas in a pod - cliche, but true. Found attached at the hip and as if they were tied at the wrist. Maria brings anything her grubby hands can touch for Shadow - books, paintings, records, more dolls. She never came empty handed.

He remembers various memories of them there-after. 

How she placed a spinning disc under a needle. How it emitted sound - kind of…a good sound? He didn’t know what it was but he learned it was called ‘music’. A beautiful way of self expression she’d called it. She’d dragged him into the mix even when he’d shown his incapable, stomping feet. They didn’t know what to do. She insisted they didn’t need to know how to move though. That there wasn’t a right way to dance. And he remembers that despite the jazz being far from attuned to his body he actually…. Enjoyed it as she pushed his arms to lift, to sway. 

Without knowing, he’d soon started looking forward to their meetings. 

He became excited to learn new things. 

He didn’t smile much. It was foreign. Still new - but, he loved not knowing - the surprise. That there was so much he could come to like for the first time. It was kind of a game, a little puzzle Maria gave him before she revealed the main act. Be it - skating too fast in the hallway while he pulled her like a sledge or when they formed ‘snow angels’ into the splattered cake. 

It all buzzed in his stomach. The eagerness, the swirling twist of his finger as he listened to her explain how to braid her hair. 

But once everyday, his throat knots together, too. A sense of self-betrayal rushing through his core as he realises what he’s enabling himself to do…with who.

A human.

A species that had disregarded him, still treated him like a thing to be torn apart.

How could he forget? He always thinks as he swallows down the hard pill of Maria's kind words which could be absolutely misplaced. 

The insecurity and loathing turned him inside out. Carved cuts into his skin that would burn and end badly as he watched her teach him how to draw. 

But that too bloomed into whole-hearted sincerity. Maria was the person who made being torn apart feel less painful. And Shadow couldn’t put it down when he discovered another foreign thing. Damning any potential doubt wrongfully conjured at the reveal of an action figure, or a plushie for cuddling.  Because if she stabbed him, if she hurt him - it still wouldn’t be as bad as being alone again. 

He learned that not all humans were like the doctors.

And, he learned that winter didn’t have to be so cold anymore. 

There was a time when she came with a mix-tape - a movie. She told him: “It’s like a bunch of moving pictures edited together perfectly so they don’t look like pictures anymore,” but that just confused him even more. 

She shoved the rectangle into a cassette player and pressed the hot button at the corner of the TV. He just looked mortified as the machine ate it, but she’d insisted there wasn’t an issue - “Look, it’s about to play!”.   And he sat as a dinosaur appeared to wreck a city. Maria all the while flicking popcorn at his spikes to get them to stick. 

“I thought they died out centuries ago.” Shadow made snippet remarks here and there. “This one's real though, right?” And Maria couldn’t help it as she flipped the salty treats in her hysterical laughter. He realised quickly she meant to mock him, but uncharacteristically in the dark he smiled too. 

He was Incapable of frustration over the wasted snack, towards the person who barged into the walls of his mind and cracked them down.

Until he read the title. 

Alien Freak.

His mood was squashed as quick as his happiness had appeared. 

Even more so as his oblivion was starkly stripped. As he connected the lines with the dots that made Maria - his new-found purpose. And he saw her for what she was in its purest form when she collapsed and he rushed her to the doctor. 

“She has neuro-immune deficiency syndrome.” the final puzzle piece to the riddle slotted into the gap. “Maria is…Sick, Shadow. Very, very sick.” He quickly realised why a child like herself - a sweet, golden girl - was locked in space. Poor Maria trapped with someone like him. 

“I’m afraid only the gravitational force of the Ark alleviates the burden of her symptoms.” He watched as Dr Robotnik tucked a blanket under her chin. 

“Isn’t there a way to treat her?”  he asked anyway. He wanted confirmation of the answer that he sensed. 

“Unfortunately, no.”  The doctor then turned and sat on the chair opposite Shadows. “But, that’s why I have you.” 

“Me?”  Shadow palmed his chest.

“I’m hoping you're the key to finding the cure.” He nodded smiling, like it amused Gerald that Shadow was disbelieved.

“Do you know why I created you, Shadow?” He randomly asked after.

Shadow didn’t respond as the doctor continued: “ Not for gain, for power, for control, for credit or fame. I’m more interested in bigger things…but at the end of the day, also for a selfish reason.”  He looked at Maria sleeping and rested his hand on her knees over the blanket.

“Your genetic foundation, Shadow, goes beyond that of human comprehension. It’s been, hmm, almost two decades and we’ve yet to decode it completely. Your core component is of a Mobian, but you have also been synthesised with the addition of a relic from a planet far far away. From a tiny fragment of a tiny green emerald.”  He shimmied his fingers. “ You have capabilities of tremendous energy. Your surgical wounds scab over and heal within hours, your broken bonds mend within days. Have you noticed?”  Shadow reluctantly nods. 

“I believe you have the answers. To not only Maria’s conundrum, but the world’s. Shadow, you have the elixir somewhere…hidden in there.” The doctor's gloved finger taps the white fur on his chest. “And…I apologise because the process of bringing it out will be taxing. It’ll be hard. But, my granddaughter is everything and all I have. Her life depends on this.” 

But Shadow doesn’t pale. He doesn’t withdraw or cringe. He only says: “I understand, Dr Gerald.”  

“You…do?”   The doctor seems taken aback, but it's true. 

“I do.”  He whispers, gazing at Maria now. 

She was his everything and all, too.

He remembers them sitting under the stars a couple of weeks later in a falsely created illusion of a flower field. Fake florals littering the Astroturf in a flurry of purples and blues.

The plasticity of the pansies rub uncomfortably into his quills, but he doesn’t dare say so. Not as he watches Maria from his peripheral gape at the blacked sky. Her blonde hair flowing around her head as she lays like a golden storm. 

“Grandpa told me what a supernova was. It’s when a star explodes but the stars are so far away that we’ll never see them go out. Isn’t that cool? That by the time we realise they’re gone it could’ve been hundreds of years?” She turned her head towards him but he stared ahead. Admiring the balls of furious heat blazing in the distance, millions and millions of light years away. Unreachable, unattainable to anyone, even him.

“They’re like diamonds, don’t you think? ”

“The light shines, even though the star is gone” He muttered in response as he mulled over her words. 

“Which star do you think you come from, Shadow?”  She smiled as she quietly asked, but he could only frown. 

“I…I don’t know.  I don’t know where I come from, I’ve only ever known the ark as my home.” His ear twitched down in a distressed signal. 

“Earth.”  She suddenly corrected Shadow. “Your homes with me.” she answered it so easily like the answer was woven into her soul. Her tone, so sure and bright in the contrast of the darkness as she scooted closer. 

“ But Maria, don’t you think… I’m dangerous?”  His voice toed the line between a crack and a tremble. He was unsure, suddenly…so insecure in front of the object of his affection. He was scared of what she might think. And it rushed in like a tidal wave as he cast his gaze away. Incapable of even meeting hers as she wrung at the skin on her lips. 

He felt un-belonging. An alien forcing its presence on the inhabitants. He felt like an outsider, a threat - he was a dangerous being that wanted to be everything but that.

But can want , overwhelm his biology? 

“What do you mean?”  Her eyebrows frowned as she curiously expressed. Her voice softened, not from fear, but care. The kind that doesn’t waver, even when faced with something uncertain. 

Shadow opened his mouth, but nothing came. The words swelled in his chest, tangled and heavy, and then fell useless to the floor. He clenched his fists in his lap, trying to keep himself from shaking - from slipping into the weight of what he was.

He spoke, at last. Quietly. As though the confession might break something if it were too loud. “You know…You’ve seen how they look at me. The humans - They think I’m some heartless monster, like the title of that film we watched. They’re afraid of me, and I-” 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Shadow breathed. “But what if that’s all I’m good at?”

There it was - the crack. Thin but spreading. Not in his voice. In his armor.

Maria didn’t move at first. She only looked at him. Like she was watching the stars again. Then, slowly, she reached over and placed her hand over his.

“You think you weren’t supposed to feel, right?” she said, gently . “But you feel more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known. You try to bury it, but it’s there - in the way you look at the stars, in the way you’re afraid to hurt me. In the way you’re speaking now.”

Shadow didn’t pull his hand away. But he didn’t lift his eyes either.

“Your heart is pure, Shadow. I hear you.” he saw her shatter in real time - for him of all people. 

“What if you're wrong?”   he challenged in defiance. 

“I don’t think the universe made you this way by mistake,” she said. “And if it did… then maybe I’m glad it made that mistake. Because you're you. That matters more than you think to me.”

“But I’m-”  

“I’m not scared of you,” she interrupted, softly but firmly. “Not because you’re not a monster - but because I know you. And you are so much more than what they made you.”

The stars glinted above them, cold and unreachable, but Maria’s warmth was here. Pressed against his side. Hands gentle over his fists.

“You asked which star you come from,” she said after a moment. “But maybe it doesn’t matter.”

Shadow finally turned to her, his eyes searching, hesitant.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She smiled again, quiet and brilliant. “Even if you were born out of something explosive, something chaotic... you’re still light now. You’re still shining. Like a star.”

She reached out, and without fear, touched the edge of the golden ring at his wrist.

“Even if it’s far away, or even if it's already gone - its light still reaches us. Still changes us. You’re not gone, Shadow. You’re here. And you matter.”

Shadow stared at her - at the warmth in her eyes, the trust that never seemed to falter and felt something unnameable shift inside him.

A crack in the fear.

A flicker of light.

“I think,” he murmured at last, voice rough, “if I’m a star... then you’re my sun.”

Maria beamed - the kind of smile that didn’t need light to shine.

And above them, the stars kept watching. 

Silent. Distant. Still burning.

Then loud - too loud.

Shadow leant back to match up with Maria's tear soaked gaze for the last time. 

He closed his eyes as he clasped the nape of her neck and pulled her to his forehead. Just for now - for as long as they can stretch time before they’re ripped from each other's hands again. 

“I love you…so much. Have I told you that yet?” She laughed as the glass behind them creaked. Her whispered words thick with vulnerability. 

He stroked a strand of hair behind her ear as he pulled back. “Only as many times as there are stars.” he chuckled, too. 

The first nail holding the door came free. 

The second following suit, whizzed over their heads. 

“It’s time?” She quivered.

He wished his powers weren’t so limited. 

“It’s time.” He nodded as he helped her settle in the belly of the cylinder cryo-chamber. Her knees, curling up to her chest so she could fit in snuggly.

“I’ll run through it with you quickly.” He said as he pushed the door closed and pushed down the metal lever, locking it in solidly. “Can you still hear me?” He asked for sure. Maria confirmed with a sniffled nod. 

And using his superior strength he bent and broke the lever in half. 

“Good.” He looked at the scrap metal and chucked it over his shoulder.

“First - this box will fill with stasis gel. You’ve seen me in it.” He stood and rounded the cryo for access to the control panel. “Second - It’s harmless, you won’t drown. You should inhale it, actually. It’ll put you to sleep and will keep you asleep for as long as you are suspended.” he lifted the cover and almost groaned at the sheer volume of buttons of varying colours.

Maria twisted awkwardly so she could watch from the other side of the cylinder. “B-But won’t they find me just sitting in plain sight?” 

Shadow tried not to flinch as the fourth and fifth nail lodged loose in the door. “No, the cylinder will fall into the core of the Ark where it is safe. It is inaccessible to everyone, including myself.” and he realises later that he shouldn’t have added the last part when Maria balks. 

“Urm, Shadow what does that-” Shadow cursed under his breath as he scanned the labels and swiped at the far out of date modeled screen. 

“That's it!” He exclaimed as he remembered the correct rotation. The second to largest orange button, followed by the yellow triangle and the three switches station within two inches of each other. First on up, second halfway and the last -

Down. 

The machine started to swirl immediately with clacks. And quickly as he looked up, Shadow heard the guttering burp of the familiar goo about to drop into the cryo from the tube attached at the top. Shit! The seal wasn’t open - he noted the red light and rushed back around to yank it out and dial the spinning circle up to the max.

The wires were just about turning green when he finished the job. The stasis gel emptying from the tank and trickling into Maria’s lap. But despite his warnings - she still felt the cold, gut wrenching fear of what this meant. 

“W-What if we were to Chaos Control? To earth.” And he was run through with guilt as he pressed his palm to the glass and silently shook his head. 

He saw her panic. Her fright. The way her pupils dilated in an overload of adrenalin as she gasped with the rising liquid. 

“I cannot jump properly myself. Space would crush us flat.” She immediately deflated as he admitted. But she stopped, then. And Maria - oh what a smart, smart girl . He sadly smiled as she started to pound on the glass.

“Shadow!” Her vocal chords rasped. “If you can’t jump then how will you-?” but she was too weak. Too fragile to dent something that was procreated to contain someone like the ultimate lifeform. 

“Hey - you’re fine. I’ll be fine.” He tried to ease her. “I’ll figure it out, okay?” 

“Let me out. Now.” She ordered. Yep - clearly a Robotnik, but there was no humour in his thoughts as he went back to the panel. He had to rush as a fist came through the glass. 

“Shadow!” 

He hated the fact that he couldn’t comfort her.

He ignored her. 

“Don’t do this.” She cried. 

He hated that he’d had to trick her. 

He ignored her.

The slime was just under her chin now as she tried to stand, but the effects were instantaneous. Her limbs were paralysed and still. 

He pressed a button to wipe the system. And smashed the control panel so that it couldn’t be used or ever fixed again. 

He knelt down as she hit the glass again with her temple. “I promise.” He reassured her, conviction and grief colouring his eyes. “The sun will shine on us again.”

Green water leaked down her face in waterfalls.

“I’m sorry, Maria. I won’t be gone long.” she spilt her last tear as she was enveloped by the stasis gel. 

He pulled the final latch at the feet of the cryo, and jammed it back in at a specific angle. The tube shuddered, then croaked before the wires loosened and the tank began to lower into the ground. This is it - he’s done it. He-

The door came undone as she fell into the crust of the Ark.

Sonic bent down, fingertips brushing the head of a lazily sprouting daffodil - its yellows bright and bold against the green. He gently ruffled the delicate petals but didn’t pick it. Instead, he pressed his nose to the flower’s slender antennas, inhaling the soft, polleny scent. Then, suddenly, he reared back and sneezed - loud and obnoxious as his feet kicked out and quills flared upward.

The sharp noise startled a small pigeon family perched in the willow tree nearby; they took flight - a single feather drifting lazily down. Sonic giggled quietly, watching the feather fall as the green hills’ forest stretched endlessly around him - a literal mountain of leaves and branches, just as the human town’s name promised.

This was home, the place he’d known for eight short years.

He had fled here, running for his life, desperate to escape a fate he feared. The ring Longclaw had tossed him - a slim hope amidst chaos - had become his salvation.

Sonic had fallen, scraped his knees on this very dirt, and the memories flooded back with a bittersweet clarity - a mix of pain and happiness.

He folded his knees, leaning back against a tree trunk, eyes drawn to the shimmering lake nearby where nocturnal fish danced beneath the moon’s pale glow. Their scales, like tiny mirrors reflecting the night. 

He sighed softly, stroking the fur along his arms as if to soothe himself.

Green Hills was nothing grand - just a handful of residents, mostly elderly, and rarely young, unless born and bred to stay forever. Sonic had counted - only 306 people lived here.

He hummed a quiet tune as the cool night air whispered past his ears. The town’s charm came from its quirky, colorful houses - pink, blue, pale green - painted on popcorn bricks. Sonic adored their oddity, much more than the classic Tudor style he’d been told about from dusty English books.

The town boasted a brewery, a tiny coffee shop, two oversized supermarkets, and a cozy diner. That was it. Yet, to Sonic, it was the best place on Earth.

Raised among the miles of forest, Sonic loved the towering trees like guardians watching over him, their leaves whispering in the wind—old companions on his daily wanderings. He patted the tree trunk beneath him, a quiet thank you even though he rarely came this way anymore.

The crisp, fresh scent where the lake met the river nudged him to move, but he frowned.

For so long, Sonic had lived in the shadows - skirting the edges of being seen, hopping rooftops, slipping through cracks, running at blazing speeds so no one could catch a glimpse. It was his gift and his curse. He spied on the townsfolk like a ghost - curious, afraid, desperate to understand this new world.

For years, he had watched lives unfold from afar, but no one truly saw him.

Hidden beneath leaves and bushes, quills tucked and silent, he’d sneak to his favorite human’s window, hoping for the right movie to play. He laughed quietly at jokes he wasn’t meant to hear. But the loneliness had crept in - slow and relentless.

Sonic loved this little town and its people. It was everything he could want - except maybe a loop-de-loop - but even that didn’t matter much. He was content in his worn-out shoes, toes poking from scuffed soles. Still, over time, the solitude settled deep. He realized just how utterly alone he was. And that terrified him.

That loneliness led to a reckless choice - one baseball game that spiraled into chaos and changed everything. His life flipped upside down, for better and worse.

He glanced down at his nearly new sneakers, bright red with white stripes, sharp and pointed. They reminded him of Tom - the “Doughnut Lord” he called him - the guardian of Green Hills, patrolling the streets in khaki and coffee tones, pistol at his side, eyes wide and confused when they first met in his shed.

Tom’s odd habit of talking to deep-fried doughnuts, wearing tinted glasses, hadn’t scared Sonic off.

That meeting had brought restless naps in Ozzie’s cage and the strange disappearance of his rings, dropped through a portal emblazoned with a city skyline printed across Tom’s chest.

And then, there was Maddie - the pretzel lady, town’s animal healer. A woman with long black hair and warm chocolate eyes. Sonic was thrilled to finally be seen - not as a shadow, but as himself.

Fate had pulled him toward the humans, even if he hadn’t planned it. He liked to think so, at least while hiding in that shed.

But the owls’ warnings whispered relentlessly: revealing himself had a price. And oh, had he paid it, when Eggman came after him - a mad scientist obsessed with capturing Sonic and the chaos coursing through his quills. Sonic had to run.

Running was his pride and purpose. But this time, he found himself unable to move.

He never wanted to leave Green Hills.

So he fought to protect his home.

Two years later, here he was again - sitting on the rocky shore, bored and restless, his heart aching for purpose. No danger lurked tonight, and that was a blessing, but also a curse. What was he supposed to do now, when there was no world to save? He picked up a pebble, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it over the water. He stuck out his tongue, counting the skips before the stone sank.

He craved adventure. His restless heart ached for distraction, for a reason to be something more.

But he knew the lectures well enough - they said wanting that was childish, unwise. That he was just a kid tangled in grown-up problems. He believed it, yet still found himself trapped in the endless question of purpose. With unmatched speed and courage, he was stuck on the sidelines, hands tied.

Since Eggman’s second defeat, Sonic felt different - carrying an invisible weight beneath his badge of honor. His world had tipped sideways, and he couldn’t find balance. His mind swirled with insecurities born of fear and hardship.

He felt like an anvil suspended by a fragile thread, dreading its snap and the destruction it might cause. He was clumsy - a source of trouble, not delight.

He waited anxiously for the moment someone else would replace him - his throne slipping away like a falling shoe.

For a while, he was content being a mischievous teen, ignoring the weight of responsibility.

But then came Tails - a little fox who changed everything.

The adorable cub became the family’s heart, spoiled and loved beyond measure. At first, Sonic laughed, happy to finally have someone who understood his torment. His ears folded back against his blue quills as he watched Tails soak up all the affection, until the love seemed to vanish from Sonic’s own world.

The fox stole it all.

It was a cruel reminder of innocence lost. Sonic longed to rewind time, to clutch what once was in his hands again - even if it meant blood-stained nails.

But he knew that was selfish. He knew it was childish to compare himself to a baby fox who’d had nothing before. Of course, Tails deserved every drop of love. And yet, Sonic’s heart whispered back: I never had that either.

So he stayed silent. Being the older brother meant swallowing those feelings, hiding them deep. He would never let them know he resented them - because he didn’t. He loved Tails just as much as Tom and Maddie did.

It was just… hard.

Then Knuckles arrived - the indestructible, stoic guardian of the Master Emerald. A former warrior of the echidna tribe.

At first, Sonic struggled to bond with him. Knuckles was tough, humorless, distant, and guarded. A pedestal of strength and maturity that made Sonic’s insecurities feel all the heavier.

But over time, Knuckles softened. He sought comfort from the humans, watching Tails receive love so freely. Knuckles melted into Maddie’s arms, sleeping peacefully against her chest, while Sonic sat alone in the worn chair, watching Tom enveloped by twin tails

Knuckles’ refusal to show affection became a fragile hope for them. His guarded touches slowly turned into ones he sought out. And Sonic—well, Sonic was jealous.

Why was he being left behind? With two new family members, why did he feel so invisible? Was it because his duty was done? Had saving Earth sealed his fate? He wrestled with doubts louder than ever but vowed never to show weakness—not tonight - not ever. 

He sniffed hard, eyes drifting toward the stars.

Sonic felt like a failure. Why else would he be sidelined? He carried the ugly weight of inadequacy like a ghost trapped in white sheets, yearning for a past life he could never reclaim. His existence felt stretched too thin, a torn flannel beyond repair. He asked the silent sky if this was his punishment, shackled by invisible chains that clanked and clattered.

He begged for peace of mind. For relief.

But the night stayed quiet, starless.

He felt worthless, a forgotten coin tossed at the bottom of a fountain, while his siblings shone like gold. How could he compete when he was destined to be overlooked? 

His home no longer felt like home. He was a stranger in his own family. Hesitation became a devil on his shoulder, stopping him from reaching out to longing eyes.

It didn’t feel right anymore.

Sonic slumped, curling into himself, arms wrapped around knees, chin resting on top. He exhaled sharply, a mist rising from his breath.

Desperation had pushed him to seek attention in any way - wrecking the house, fumbling tasks, pushing blame. It was better than nothing.

And so he got grounded.

Under house arrest for a month, with only the backyard for freedom. Two weeks in - he was already suffocating. He needed space to think, to wallow in self-pity where no one would find him.

But that only made him feel worse.

No villains to fight. No orders from G.U.N. No battles to lead. Sonic felt useless.

He was a hero - the boy savior, a symbol of hope. His team bore his name. Yet he groaned, stretched out, feeling anything but heroic.

He glanced once more at the moon and started the slow walk back.

Truthfully, Sonic held no resentment toward Tails or Knuckles. Not even a sliver. From the depths of his heart, he couldn’t imagine a life without the two of them constantly around - loud, stubborn, brilliant. Their presence was a lot, sure. But it was a lot he’d grown to love. 

Still…

He rubbed the back of his neck as he trudged through the forest, away from the shimmering lake.

A knot of guilt twisted in his chest. How could he even think that way about them? His brothers. How could his mind turn them into symbols of everything he felt he was missing from himself.

He winced aloud, brushing aside a low-hanging branch and ducking through a narrow pass between the trees.

But he was allowed to feel things—wasn’t he? Even if they were irrational. Even if they made no sense. He wasn’t a machine. He was flawed. And this - this spiraling self-pity - was why he ran. 

Not to escape them. Not really. But to hide from the version of himself that thought in such ugly shades.

It always crept up on days like this. Quiet, slow, and cruel. He didn’t want Tails or Knuckles to see him like this. Not when what he felt inside wasn’t even true. They didn’t deserve the weight of his unspoken bitterness. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d earned everything good in their lives.

So he smiled. He laughed. He wore the mask he’d perfected years ago. And they never noticed a thing.

They couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.

He would rather choke on it all than let either of them believe - even for a second - that he didn’t love them. That he wasn’t proud of them. That he wasn’t grateful to have them in his life.

This? This was his to carry.

So he locked it down again. Pressed it deep into that place inside himself, behind the walls where he stored everything he couldn’t say out loud. The part of him that only existed in silence.

He dropped to a patch of dry ground, curled into himself, and spun.

A blue blur gaining speed, faster, tighter - until momentum grabbed hold and hurled him forward. He shot through the forest like a bullet from a railgun.

Home was just under a mile.

In one fluid motion, he vaulted onto the thick branch of an oak tree and launched himself across the open air. His body skimmed the rooftop, quills scraping the tiles as he coasted over them. The window rushed up to meet him. He spun mid-air and darted through the open pane, landing with a thud on the saggy bean bag chair in the corner of the room.

Dust puffed up. It squeaked under his weight. A familiar sound.

He sprawled across it, limbs flopping like unspooled thread before rolling onto the mattress beside it.

Sonic grimaced at the loud thump his body made hitting the bed, instantly regretting the noise. He froze, staring across the room at the shared double bed - watching for movement, listening for a shift in breath.

Nothing. Still asleep.

He exhaled softly in relief, a small smirk creeping onto his face. That had been way too close. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride at pulling off his little midnight escape.

He nudged off his shoes with his toes, letting them drop to the floor with a dull thud. Mud clung to the soles, but he ignored it for now. He wriggled under the blanket, tugging it up to his chin, and glanced once more at the other bed.

The dinosaur plush by his pillow grinned at him in the dark. The quiet hum of the house lulled him. Safe. Soft. Familiar.

He reached for it.

“Hedgehog.”

He froze.

Shit.

Fanart (both) dedicated by @Spunge4 on TikTok, Please go support their work!!

Chapter Text

Countless men stormed in. Their bulky boots bashing the tiles behind him as they scrambled to block the door. It was like a lumberjacks axe hefting into wood - the splintering sounds rocketing around the room as hordes of guns clicked back and posed to shoot. 

Shadow froze as they waited. The silence, ever consuming as he received the glares behind their dark-tinted visors. But, it was useless. Their helmets couldn’t hide their fear…their trigger fingers twitching. Shadow could hear the blood rushing behind their armor, smell the nerves prickling off their skin.

They thought they had him cornered.

But Shadow wasn’t afraid.

He turned, eyes drawn to the circular hatch where Maria had just been - the launch tiles already sealing shut, swallowing the only person he cared about into the steel veins of the ARK’s core. The light from the chamber faded beneath him, cold and distant. As if she were being buried.

Not dead - but not alive, either.

Just... out of reach.

“So. You are real.” He suddenly heard. The stranger's voice husked and scratched. Shadow turned his head, slow and mechanical, dragging his grief behind his eyes like chains to face him. 

He stuffed the pain down into the void inside him - He chucked it in the deep abyss,  shoved it hard until it fell silent. The guilt. The fear. The helplessness. They had no place here as the air around him thickened. 

“Yours truly.” A faint spark leapt from Shadows quills - a warning. 

And he quickly realised that he didn’t need to force himself to hate this man. The irritation came naturally. He felt chaos stir beneath the surface, bubbling just out of reach. Tempting, but reclusive as everything began to build back up - the resent, the loathing.

He tilted his head back. “What - afraid of one hedgehog?” His ear twitched against a spike as he eyed the ring of barrels pointed at his head. The uniforms of the men, shuffling like winter’s wind. “Is the fire-power compensating for something?” 

But the man just chuckled as the wrinkles set deep into his skin turned into weathered folds. Crow's feet crinkled near his eyes as he smirked. “I’m afraid of what one hedgehog might do…if left unchecked.”

He replied with grim honesty. Somewhere laced into his thickness a demanding respect that the sheep enclosing him followed. It was an odd thing - something only years could bring. It was the kind of worn authority people didn’t question. And he didn’t shy away as he studied Shadow like a scientist dissecting a specimen that had come alive on the table. 

“There’s been whispers.”  Shadow eyed the pins and badges encasing the man’s blazer. The golden trophies. Polished, performative…old. “There's been…rumours. Theories - about a prototype. About you.” 

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “You've stirred up quite a few conversations. My division hasn’t stopped talking about you. You’ve become quite the popular spectacle.” Abraham pressed his hand against his gelled back hair. 

“Great. Just what I wanted to hear.” Shadows' voice dripped in dry sarcasm. “I’m flattered.” 

"But that isn’t why I’m here, Shadow." The man lifted his hand, and Shadow tensed, instinctively preparing for a fight. He crouched, believing the stranger was reaching for a weapon and growled, "Then get to the point. What do you want?"

“Instead,” The man continued calmly, “I’d like to dive into the heart of the matter - Our future, and yours” But instead of a weapon, the man produced something thinner. Weaker. He unexpectedly pulled a slim stack of stapled papers from his breast pocket. G.U.N. -  printed on the front in bold.

He waved it once, casually, like the pages carried more weight than bullets. And Shadow scoffed as he watched the man not only stare - but press, provoke, challenge him. 

As he tried to intimidate him

Shadow felt the silent pressure pushing against his resolve - but he didn't budge. His glare sharpened, slicing through the air between them like a blade. And, the tension snapped like wire between their eyes. Still, his eyes flicked back to the spot on the floor where Maria had disappeared. His mind, whether he liked it or not, always circled back to her.

He was being underestimated. Good. 

“Yeah, right.” he said, voice rough. “ ‘Cause I’ll take the word of someone who’d stormed in with guns blazing and run with it. Do you think I’m stupid?” Crackling energy sizzled faintly at his gloves - enough to make the nearest soldiers flinch.

“No” Commander Abraham - Shadow read his name tag as he stepped forward. Unflinching. Unafraid. “If anything - your existence is a beacon of hope.” the man added without hesitation, and it layered Shadows tongue in sour lemon. 

What kind of monster uses a word like hope after threatening an innocent girl? 

Shadow’s stare sharpened as Abrahm went on: “And, we came here for a reason, Shadow. Earth is under potential threat. Three non-human entities have surfaced - anomalies. A blue blur, a red echidna, and a fox with dangerous tech - aliens, currently inhabiting Earth. Untracked, unpredictable. We need eyes on them. We need control. 

“And, you're one of the few who could stop them if they turn against us.”  He started to walk the stretch of the room with his shoulders square - his hands clasped behind his back like a man delivering a mission briefing, not a veiled threat. Abrahm continued, as if unaware of the venom now seeping into the air.  As if the words didn’t sit in the air like oil on water - impossible to wash out, thick with intent.

As if this wasn’t a trap.

As if this wasn’t a room full of guns.

Shadow’s eyes tracked him without moving his head. His body was still, but coiled - his arms loose at his sides, quills faintly bristling with static

“You’re looking for a weapon.” Shadow’s voice dropped, colder now - with no room for interpretation. His fists pumped open and closed as he gritted the accusation. 

They don’t need Shadow. They need the ultimate lifeform. 

Abraham doesn’t deny it as he stopped pacing. 

“I won’t lie to you. Our forces - our technology - they’re inferior to the Mobians. Inefficient. We can’t match them. But you can.” He spoke like it was a simple fact. Like that admission didn’t carry blood. Like his soldiers hadn’t already come here assuming they could bend him into compliance through threats and bullets.

The words tasted like manipulation dressed up in admiration. Shadow could hear it in the way he said “you”- not a name, not a person. Just potential. Power. And, like struck, he sharply exhaled through his nose. A short bitter sound as he bit the inside of his cheek. 

“And, you think I’ll help?” and you think I’ll help after what you forced me to do to Maria? - Went unsaid as he swallowed down a disbelieved laugh scraping the edge of his voice. 

He tilted his chin, just enough to show disdain. To remind them: they were the ones surrounded. Not him.

Abrahm didn’t answer right away. He studied Shadow like one might study a detonator - hands-off, but close enough to see the trigger.

“I do." A beat of silence passed. “Because this offer could give you more than this station ever did.” 

Shadow didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to as the stillness twisted.

As it settled. 

Then: “And, beside. Aren’t you curious?” He asked, his voice shifting into something more precise. That word - curious - dripped with bait.  “...About what they are? The three we’ve identified - linked genetically to the same species as you?” 

That hit its mark.

Shadow’s eyes widened - just barely - but the movement didn’t escape Abrahm’s notice. His breath hitched and it was just loud enough to create all the opening the man needed. His smile widened. 

“There it is.” 

Shadows fury rattled. 

“You must think I’m desperate,” he snapped, the edge of his patience breaking like the crack of a gunshot in the heavy silence. His eyes burned with exhaustion, jaw clenched tight - done playing this endless game of cat and mouse.

“I think you’re intelligent. I think you understand what’s at stake and the weight of your purpose. You were built to protect this world, Shadow. Let us help you do that.”  Abraham shot back immediately. 

Shadow stepped closer - calm, but seething. A soldier tensed at the action and raised his rifle. Only a twitch higher. 

Wrong move. Wrong move.

“How could I protect a world that would never accept me - a world I’m not even a part of.” His voice dipped lower to a deadly whisper.

Tension stretched between them, thick enough to suffocate.

“If what you say is true, then I’m just like them.” Shadow added, straightening his posture with slow, deliberate resolve. “...And, Look at me.” 

Abraham didn’t waver as he dismissed the words with quiet conviction. “G.U.N believes in your importance. With your power, your skills - good things can be accomplished.” Each word landed with a firm, rehearsed certainty - like he was reading from a manual.

Like he was reading it from a textbook. 

“I won’t do it.” his eyes flashed. A gleam of Chaos energy biting through the dark. “I wasn’t cultivated for this.”

The muffled words of the doctor echoed: “I believe you have the answers. To not only Maria’s conundrum, but the world’s. Shadow, you have the elixir somewhere…hidden in there.”

Abrahm’s eyes flickered, the first visible crack. “Gerald Robotnik was narrow minded. He didn’t want to think outside the box.” he argued in a sharpened tone. “But your potential exceeds their expectations. You can be more than just medicine, Shadow.” 

“Forget it.” His voice came quiet and flat, like a door slamming shut. “I won’t be used as your pawn.” 

“You haven’t even heard what's on the table.” 

His gaze hardened, unyielding. “I don’t care to know. I’ve heard enough.” The words were final, carved in stone. 

A beat. “But, you-” 

“ I won’t do it.” He repeated as his temper snapped. Chaos flared - hot and sudden - burning at the edge of his control.

And then, Abrahm said it. The one thing he shouldn’t have: “Then - we’ll take the girl.” 

Everything stopped.

Time shattered.

The surge of Chaos that burst off him was silent at first - then deafening. A pulse of raw power cracked across the room, lights overhead flickering like dying stars. It ignited him - fury erupting in a pop of crackling energy. And, when his voice - when it came - it was a razor-drenched whisper.

“If you touch her” he growled, voice seething, “I will tear through each, and every one of you. I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping foot on this station.” 

Realistically - Shadow knew that wasn’t possible. Maria was safe. She was hidden. They couldn’t reach her without tearing the place down block by block, and yet, he cannot help the emotions that arise when Abraham threatens her. It’s a double edged sword - his love is fierce, but it is his biggest weakness, too. 

“Shadow - I'm not your enemy. But, think it over. Sooner or later you’ll have to pick a side”

Shadow’s eyes burned - molten and unrelenting. “I already have.” 

Abrahms jaw tightened, the fight draining from his posture. “You misunderstand me. This isn’t a debate - An option. You will be coming with us.” 

“And, I think you need to invest in some hearing aids, old man” He stepped forward, unbothered by the dozens of barrels trained on him. His movements, deliberate like a panther with its gaze locked onto prey - a slow drift into stillness.

He leaned back just slightly, hands relaxed, body poised like a blade at rest. “...Because you’ll have to drag me off this ship - in pieces.” 

His eyes scanned the room - counting. Measuring. Watching the corners, watching the soldiers flinch. The muzzles of their rifles followed, tight and unblinking. But, he moved like he didn’t even see them.

He smiled then - cold, crooked, empty. He let the pause hang

He’s stalled long enough…

…The timer would kick in any second. “And, I don’t break easily.” He made sure to count as soon as the hatch door sealed. 

Because what G.U.N didn’t know, Shadow knew well. Ark was his territory. Not theirs. 

The silence returned like a pressure wave - dense, suffocating. Abrahm stood motionless in the center of the room, the faint hum of failing overhead lights casting long, fractured shadows beneath his boots. Around him, the soldiers held their aim, sweat trickling beneath their visors, muscles strained like bowstrings. And yet, the commander didn’t speak.

Not yet. - Shadow heard an almost silent tick. The start up. The indicator, but not yet the go ahead. 

Abraham's jaw clenched as he stared into the hedgehog’s burning eyes - eyes that didn’t just defy him, but promised destruction without regret. There was no fear in them. No compromise.

Abrahm had seen men stare down death, but this… this was different. This was something born in it.

He weighed his options.

Fast.

There was no backup coming -  No fallback plan.

And Shadow… wasn’t bluffing.

Abrahm's mind calculated risk against reward like a machine honed by decades of warfare. Negotiation had failed. The leverage - Maria - had only backfired. He wasn’t looking at a potential asset anymore.

He was looking at a lit fuse.

And still… he couldn’t back down. Not in front of them.

His gaze lowered for a second, contemplative, before he inhaled sharply through his nose.

Decision made.

He straightened his back, adjusted the cuff of his sleeve like a man preparing for a funeral. “Very well. If you won’t work with us…” The commander exhaled and turned to his soldiers. “Take him in. Try not to damage the merchandise.”

A heavy click echoed from deep within the station, however -  A power relay disengaging. And like a switch had been flipped, the Ark answered. The light’s shut off. 

Not all at once - but in waves. The overhead beams stuttered violently, flicked in seizure-like bursts, then vanished into darkness.

The entire room was swallowed by a breathless black. And, Shadow used this chance to flick it up and bury the key-card he’d taken from Maria into his quills. 

He might need it later. 

Someone shouted. “We need back-up!”

A rifle clattered.

A second voice screamed - “Commander Sir, What are your orders!”

But, Shadow didn’t move like a creature caught. He moved like a creature unleashed in a glory of flames and blazing heat as his presence vanished and the armed men panicked. 

The bow of his feet bent squarely and landed across the helmeted head of the nearest soldier. He pushed off and knocked them dizzy into the doctor's counter top. That man’s wings melted like the wax of icarus’s against the scorching sun. His vision spun - he collapsed and Shadow jumped through a small blip of space to yank the whipping gun from his second target. 

“Do not fire!” Shadow heard Abraham's command in the darkness. “We need him alive!” 

Shadow had great eyes. Excellent even - but, even he struggled in absolute pitch blackness. He dodged a fist and swept the legs out from under his attacker. But, not before he felt a shallow gash open across his hip. 

Wincing he jumped back. His feet, unconsciously tapping for purchase as he caught and flung a new body into the dry wall. He nearly flinched on the sound of the impact, but didn’t waste haste as he vanished into thin air again. 

“Fuck, Somebody get the lights on, goddamn it!” A lonesome soldier cradling his bruised cheek yelled. 

You shouldn’t have poked the hornets' nest. - Shadow thought as he blinked in and out. 

Abraham cursed as he felt the vibration of men after men drop like flies through the floor. They simply couldn’t keep up, their human bodies were subpar compared to Shadows stronger limbs - his chaos. His speed couldn’t be followed as he jumped from place to place. 

They would soon be defeated this way.

The commander quickly remembered something as his hand plummet into the sleeve of his blazer, though. On his arm - a strap holding a miniature yellow device that almost mimicked a pistol. Abraham almost cheered. His frail fingers scrolling across the recessing options displayed by the green screen. This was planned out for the worst case.

And, objectively - well…this looked like that.

He ducked just as something scorched overhead - close enough to sear the air, an arc of raw energy sliced through the air like a whip. Sparks exploded against the wall behind him, plaster chipping off in bursts. Abrahm cursed under his breath and flattened his back to the cold metal pillar, sweat slicking his brow.

His gun, vibrating faintly in his grip - was still set to live rounds.

No. Not like this.

He popped the chamber open, worked quickly - mechanically - and swapped the live cartridge for the specialized capture round. Abrahm ignored the irony. The electrified net it housed had been reverse-engineered from schematics quietly lifted from one of the fox's early designs. One of G.U.N.’s proudest non-lethal tools - Mobian ingenuity, repurposed for containment. Built for the restraint of enhanced targets. 

Because even if Shadow had rejected the notion proposed - Killing him was never the mission.

Command wanted him alive.

He took a steady breath, leaned out from behind the thick pillar just enough for the targeting system to lock on - and squeezed the trigger. 

A soft puff of pressurized air escaped the launcher - nearly silent against the roar of collapsing debris and scrambling boots. He didn’t see the round fly, but he knew its pattern, he knew it would twist and turn as it grew into a cobweb.

Then - Thunk. 

Shadow cried out as it struck, caught off guard. “What -”

The words broke as the net deployed fully, wrapping around his frame in a flash of metal and white-hot current. The filaments lit up, glowing like lightning as they dumped pulses of voltage into his muscles. His limbs jerked, chaos energy flaring and cracking beneath the restraint, but unable to surge.

He folded like a paper crane and hit the ground hard. Twitching - but conscious.

The lights chose that moment to reappear. They blinked and stabilized and the soldiers squinted at their surroundings. Half of them - face down - unconscious. 

Someone yelled again, but Shadow couldn’t hear it. The pain drowned it out. The sharp, violent jolts that surged took over the edge of his mind - It silenced everything but his erratic breaths. He failed to fight the tension locking his limbs. It was useless as the current hit hard and his body spasmed. His mouth hung open in a gurgled cry,  his eyes rolled back and his tears streamed in a steady, helpless line as he withered. 

He couldn’t stop it.

He couldn’t stop any of it.

How hadn’t he seen it coming?

“Pack him up,” Abraham ordered, out of breath, sweat soaking into the strands of his greying hair. “But make sure he gets at least two units of horse tranquilizer first.” He reset his weapon, locking it back into position, eyes cold as he stared down at Shadow.

“This hedgehog’s feisty.”

He was being tortured.

Electricity punched straight into his gut. It didn’t stop. It tore at him - like it was trying to strip flesh from bone. God, it hurt. Shadow choked on his own spit. Something was burning.

Then - A tug.

He caught sight of a syringe, the air inside it being pushed out with a soft hiss. And he knew - if he didn’t act in this one, perfect second… it would be over.

Maria would never wake up.

She’d be trapped in that endless sleep.

Forever.

As their backs turned, Shadow’s spine shuddered and his stripes ignited with a fierce fluorescent glow. He drew on the last flickers of chaos circling in his veins after the electrical shutdown, and pulled on every ounce of the power from deep within. 

Like a supernova - flames of orange shockwaves burst outwards in fireworks, and the soldiers were toppling like dominos. Grappling. Screaming for purchase as the wind that whipped swallowed them into a tornado. 

Abraham rolled behind his pillar and held on like it was his life line. His blazer flapped and battered him in the eye as Shadow roared. His orbs like a million stars as his muscles tensed against the cruel metal net. Blood coiled from his skin as the wires he pushed against dug deep into his flesh. 

Harder.

And, harder he pushed to get it off. 

But like they were Iron gates, it was far too stubborn to let up. 

Abraham remembered then - He fumbled and almost dropped his one and only saving grace. His gun! He gripped the neck of the shaft tightly as Shadow cracked through a couple wires of the criss-crossed capture weapon blanketing him. They snapped like elastic and the hedgehog almost collapsed under the pain as they whipped back. Some of his spines splintered under the pressure. 

And yet - The netting just still wouldn’t fucking give.

This wasn’t…fast enough. 

Shadow cried out as the metal grates grinded down. 

Panic surged - his body screaming warnings. Every Chaos Control jump left him battered, fractured. One step in the grave. If he pushed too hard this time, it could be the last.

But staying meant worse. He couldn’t let that happen. 

Two more wires snapped free. His arm slipped beyond the net’s cold cage, trembling but free.

“No!” Abraham figured it out. He noticed and pushed back against the chaos and shakily raised his pistol. His aim, just as random and blind in the torpedo as it was when they’d been dropped in the darkness. 

It was, however, too late. Or so…Abraham had thought - Shadow exhaled sharply as he channeled his power. The orange haze wrapped around his knuckles like a protective shield. It was agonising as it sunk in, as it embedded its sharp teeth into his skin. 

He clenched his jaw for what might be the last time. Releasing all the tension he could bear, he pulled back the fragments of his strength and thrust forward.

Abraham's finger twitched over the trigger. And as it clicked back, Shadow’s scream shattered the ground beneath them. The tiles cracking and cement groaning underfoot as his eyes closed - bracing for the cost.

“Chaos Control!" He zapped away. The only evidence indicating that he was ever there - the limp fallen and short-circuited net. 

The dust couldn’t settle before the soldiers were ordered: “After him!”

Cover blown.

Sonic didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he flopped onto his side dramatically and let out a fake snore, smacking his lips and mumbling incoherently. Something like, “Mmm... chili dogs... taxes...” escaped him in a sleepy slur. Maybe, just maybe, Knuckles would buy it. Stranger things had happened.

Nope.

The telltale creak of the top bunk’s springs groaned under shifting weight, followed by a heavy thud as Knuckles jumped down, hitting the floor like a sack of bricks.

“I know you’re awake, Sonic,” Knuckles grumbled.

Sonic didn’t respond. He just tugged the blanket up over his nose, ears twitching at the sound of the echidna’s approach. He bit his lip. Maybe if he stopped breathing, he could Houdini his way out of this.

“Sonic,” Knuckles growled again, voice sharp with warning now. It carried just enough menace to send a chill under the covers.

Sonic barely had time to brace himself before - FWIP - his blanket was ripped off with the finesse of a wild animal. Cold air stabbed at his fur. He hissed like a cat dunked in water and bolted upright.

“Ahaaa~ Knuck's! Buddy! Fancy seeing you up this late!” Sonic laughed, rubbing his eyes with exaggerated innocence. “Weird dream, huh? I was just-"

A gloved hand slapped over his mouth before he could finish.

Knuckles leaned in, his voice a razor-thin whisper. “Be quiet. You’ll wake the fox.”

Sonic froze, eyes darting to the lower bunk. Tails was snuggled in tight, two tails twitching with each hiccuping snore. Extremely light sleeper. One wrong breath and he'd be awake asking a hundred questions in under ten seconds.

Sonic's ears drooped. He nodded solemnly against Knuckles' palm. The hand was removed, but the death-glare remained.

“Where were you?” Knuckles asked, arms crossed, tail flicking like a pissed-off cat. “And don’t say ‘bathroom.’ You came in through the window, you maniac.”

Sonic opened his mouth, shut it, then smiled - awkwardly. “Okay, okay. So maybe not the bathroom-bathroom. It was more of a... mental bathroom. Yeah. Like a thinking pit stop!”

Knuckles stared at him like he’d just spoken an ancient echidna curse.

“That’s not even a thing.”

Sonic shrugged, palms up. “It could be.”

“You blew through the window, Sonic. The wind woke me up before your face did.”

“Details,” Sonic mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m here now. Not dead. No property damage this time. So... maybe we just pretend I never left? Bond of brothers? Eh?”

He flashed a lopsided grin, trying to look charming. It came off more like a feral gremlin.

Knuckles didn’t flinch. “Absolutely not. Maddie grounded you. You’re not supposed to leave the house, especially not at-” he checked the glowing numbers on the nearby digital clock, “-2:37 AM!”

Sonic winced. “Okay, first off, that clock’s fast. Second, you’re sounding an awful lot like her right now.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘Sonic is not allowed past the yard or he’ll be eating salad for a month.’”

“No!” Sonic gasped, clutching Knuckles’ arm like he was hanging off a cliff. “Not the green stuff!”

“You brought this on yourself!”

“It was one microwave incident!”

“You nuked a fork.”

“I thought it was a tiny spaceship!”

Knuckles sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, muttering something about chaos help me. Sonic saw his chance and doubled down.

“Please, Knuck's. She’ll go full ‘Wrath of Maddie.’ You remember the fire alarm incident. I can’t face that again.”

“You lit nachos on fire.”

“It was experimental cuisine!”

Knuckles tried to pry Sonic off, but the hedgehog clung like a spider-monkey, gripping the fluff on his chest.

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Let. Go.”

“Never!”

“This is not negotiation,” Knuckles warned, starting to tug at Sonic’s ear in retaliation.

“OW - HEY! Sensitive!” Sonic squirmed but didn’t let go. “You’re assaulting an injured party!”

“Injured? You literally sprinted through a forest for fun.”

“Emotional injury!”

Knuckles huffed, ears flat, trying to shake Sonic off like a wet towel. “You reap what you sow, hedgehog.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means you're about to get thrown across the room if you don’t let go.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

“You’re not scary, you’re fluffy.”

“Touch me again and you’ll lose that hand.”

“See? That’s the scary part!”

The wrestling match continued until Sonic tried to bury his face into Knuckles’ shoulder to avoid the ear pulling - only for the echidna to stiffen suddenly. Sonic immediately noticed the change.

“Wait. Did I hurt you?” Sonic pulled back slightly, eyes flicking to Knuckles’ gloves. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to jab you with a quill or anything-”

THWACK.

A hard smack landed on the side of his head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“For being annoying.”

“You’re always this dramatic?”

“I’m always this patient.”

Sonic groaned and flopped backward onto the bed like a fallen soldier. “This house is a prison.”

“This house is the only thing keeping you from being grounded until you turn thirty.” Sonic shook his head, pushing back up to sit when Knuckles hit him again. This time lighter but still ripping a grunt out of the younger and making him fall back into the bed.

“Stop swearing around the young one. You’ll teach him unbecoming habits”

“He’s asleep! And stop fucking hitting me.” Sonic spat the words just to spite him. 

Knuckles threw his arms to the ceiling in exasperation, then let them drop. “Maybe when you get it through your thick skull, I will. Running off alone is dangerous.”

That hit different. Sonic froze, squinting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Knuckles didn’t answer right away. He pinched the bridge of his muzzle, jaw tight, then sank onto the foot of Sonic’s bed. The mattress dipped with his weight.

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

A spark of unease flickered in Sonic’s chest. He forced a nervous laugh. “Urm, no, actually I don’t. Care to enlighten me? Cherry on top?”

Knuckles’ fists tightened against his legs. The room darkened, like a veil pulling over them. Sonic thought he saw something - something that looked like himself lurking just behind Knuckles, grinning.

And like throwing gasoline over a tiny flicker of a candle's lick, the silhouette of the room became so much brighter. Darkness, a blacked out wedding veil. It creeped from the walls and limped towards Sonic's feet, reaching for the one hidden inside himself. Opposite poles attracting, a sentiment inapplicable to his case as Knuckle’s looked to glow. The void, drifting from him and to the hedgehog instead, clinging on and taking shape in his own form.

It was a replica he didn’t think he could tell apart from himself if he looked close enough into a mirror. 

“Can you drop the act this once and take this seriously?” Knuckles’ growl reverberated low, sharp enough to make Sonic’s fur bristle.

“What am I supposed to get, Knucks?” Sonic snapped back, agitation flaring. His chest felt hot, his skin itching like nettles crawling under it. He felt suddenly cornered. 

Nettles rubbed against his spine. They formed hives over his skin and scorched. Sonic felt the itch of unease, of the need to run away from where this conversation was headed. But he couldn’t - no. if he did the symptoms would worsen. 

“You’ve been sneaking out.” His brother jabbed a finger at the window. “Every night. You think I don’t notice?” the spikes over his Knuckles glowed in the descending moon. “I have, I always do.” 

The atmosphere grew tense. It weighed as Sonic caged himself in. “What’s the big deal? I always come back.” He scoffed in self defense. 

“That’s not the point. Something could still happen.” Knuckles fired back. “Plus - you're grounded. You don’t go behind people's backs like that.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Sonic snapped quietly as he side-eyed Tails. His brother, deep in his slumber, hidden beneath layers upon layers.  

“No, you don’t. I know you're capable.” Knuckles agreed, following Sonic's gaze. “But a warrior does not abandon his post. You have. You vanish. You disappear and return exhausted. Dead on your feet the next day…” 

“You’ve been…different.” His fists clenched, then loosened, unsure. “It makes me…disturbed.” 

Sonic straightened. He’s never felt it like now, the chill of cold admittance which looked to hurt. “Disturbed?” He blinked, his ire swept away. The pages of his brother’s book, the only sound in the damning silence. 

“Yes.” Knuckles breathed flatly as he turned. “You're less annoying. I don’t like it.” 

Sonic’s eyes fixated on the creases burned into Knuckle's face. How the skin between his eyebrows looked to be pinched in agony. A…sorrowful carve. It was unnatural - Alien across his face. And the blur blur didn’t know how to read the words it exhibited as he swallowed thickly. 

“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve not changed.” He forced himself to grin. “I’m the same old, super hedgehog. You’re being silly.” He glanced at the sky outside. As a distraction It was lighter - pink on the horizon. 

Knuckles’ scowl faltered. He looked away, muttering almost too quietly: “It means something is wrong.” 

And Sonic didn’t like that because those words meant worry. They meant concern - eyes. It meant he was being watched closely. 

He massaged his chest, hoping Knuckles couldn’t hear how hard his heart rattled. It ached as it banged like drums. “Why do I feel like we’re arguing?” 

“We’re not, I’m just…-” His dreads swayed against the broadness of his bangs as he faced him. “You don’t greet Tom anymore. You don’t bother Tails in the shed. You don’t even prank me. I have not been hit in the face with whipped cream in weeks.” 

“You liked doing those things.” 

It sounded weird. Infuriatingly so as he heard it all come directly from Knuckles - someone who showed how he felt through actions rather than words. And it left a hole where his chest was supposed to be when he realised how dark his sunken eyebags were.

He had kept himself awake to make sure Sonic made it back in one piece. 

Like an abandoned plant pot, the soil devoid of its floral essence, its house of dry clay cracked and chipped. Nettles circling its rim and up the dead branch of the plant that once lived in it. Sonic defeatedly realised that he had in fact changed. And Knuckles had somehow seen it happen. 

“Chaos - I’m no good at this.” Knuckles scratched his throat. “I’m a warrior and a guardian. I’m not familiar with human…customs.” 

Sonic knew what he was referring to as his lips twitched.

“But if you need it-” His arms stretched out on both his sides. “Then you can have this.” He blushed as he scrunched his eyes shut. 

And, Sonic - well, he felt guilty as he watched his brother willingly push past his discomforts to comfort him. So to allow him the tiniest mercy, he gently cradled one of his wrists and pulled them back onto Knuckle’s lap. “I told you. I’m fine. Really.” he lied, even though he’d wanted to so badly embrace the echidna. 

“We should head to bed.” he weakly whispered as he ruffled the corner of his blanket. 

“Sonic-” Knuckles had sensed his avoidance. Nothing got past his thick skull - he’d always had keen eyes. But Sonic just simply…didn’t have the energy to keep up the act. He couldn’t pretend that his sadness wasn’t actively drowning him. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s leave it now, okay?” he held his breath, waiting. Hoping Knuckles wouldn’t push. 

And after the longest five seconds of just staring at each other - searching. Knuckles reluctantly nodded. He moved hesitantly and tiptoed his shoe off as Sonic patted his pillow down. His fingers cradling the plush he’d reached for earlier to his chest.

“I won’t tell, Maddie.” Knuckles ensured. “Bond of brothers.”

And when Knuckles jumped the small distance to the top bunk and laid down - Sonic could hear him say: “Goodnight, Sonic”

But for some reason, Sonic couldn’t bring himself to say it back. 

Chapter Text

He didn’t know it was possible - until it was.

A burst of blinding white detonated in his skull, so violent it felt as if his head would screw off his neck and spin into the void. The dizziness reeled him inside out, his stomach somersaulting. Then came the plunge - through something thick and viscous, space and time itself pulling like tar, clawing at his skin, gnawing a chill straight from his bones.

Shadow screamed. His voice ripped after him, ragged and raw, swallowed into the orange flicker of a failing, makeshift portal. He didn’t even register how close the floor was until it slammed him.

Momentum betrayed him. His ankle folded first, bones cracking under the brutal angle, the sickening snap jerking another cry from his muzzle. He twisted, trying to soften the fall, but instead careened onto his shoulder. 

Pain thundered there instantly, swelling before he even had time to comprehend it. His arm clutched at the wound, body protesting with every nerve alight, moaning only one command: stop, stop, stop. He curled to his side, whimpering through clenched teeth.

The sound that broke out of him was guttural, raw, dragged from the darkest pit of his chest. His jaw creaked as though his fangs might shatter. His eyes widened when he saw his glove - once spotless white - now blooming red, glistening beneath the overhead lights. From the corner of his vision, the last embers of orange lightning fizzled from his feet, dying.

He staggered to awareness, the sterile reek of antiseptic confirming where he was. These indigo-ceilinged halls - yes, the Ark. Not far from where he’d triggered chaos control. His knowledge had chained him here; he couldn’t jump to Earth when he didn’t know its shape. Not that he could if he wanted to - his inhibitors clung tight to his wrists, humming their dull reminder. And panic had driven him to the first place his mind could grab.

The atrium loomed beside him, doors yawning open. A window wider and taller than himself stared back at him, revealing Earth suspended in the void. Pale oceans, faint golden sparks of cities, so small, so distant. He remembered standing here with Maria only hours ago, watching the planet turn slow as a lullaby.

Now he groaned, the skin along his body stretched taut like fabric ready to tear. He forced himself up with trembling arms, the tiles biting with winter’s chill. Strength ebbed with every heartbeat. Fatigue - always a shadow to adrenaline - began slipping into his bones. Yet the rhythm of boots and the bark of voices drew closer. 

G.U.N soldiers.

Shadow had no choice but to drag himself on, blood marking the floor with every inch.

He rose at last, wobbling on ruined shoes, ankle dangling wrong beneath him. He cursed under his breath, tried to summon power, but his shoes sputtered black smoke. Dead. The net that had trapped him before must have fried the mechanics.

He blinked once more at the stars beyond glass, their quiet shimmer taunting. Then forced himself into the hallway. Each step was a negotiation: hand dragging blood onto the walls, ankle buckling, his good leg threatening mutiny with every hop.

He called it art, smearing crimson murals across sterile white, anything to keep from thinking about how much he was losing.

Time warped. Minutes stretched into hours, yet when he looked back, the atrium still lingered in sight. His trail of fingers no more than a short smear. The voices were louder. His lungs rebelled against each shallow breath, mouth flooded with the copper sting of blood. He gagged, coughed, tasted iron on his tongue.

And always - the cuffs. His wrists burned under them as memory pressed in. Inhibitors welded to him since childhood. Shackles disguised as safeguards. They claimed to protect him, to prevent chaos from consuming him - but if that were true, then why was he writhing, crumbling after a single maneuver?

He looked down at them now. He can’t recall when the skin beneath them was ever naked. They were like padlocks, unbreakable. Stronger than Shadow himself. When he was younger they had the effect of somehow enclosing him inside of an open room. 

Every step grated bone on bone, knees shrieking with each grind. The cuffs should have stopped him before his body failed. They should have burned and shut him down. Instead, here he was - bleeding, staggering, breaking.

The “ultimate lifeform.” Hard to kill, but not indestructible. 

Shadow pressed on. Blood splattered in neat rows behind him, sweat mixing to thicken into cement. His fingers trembled, numb, his chaos gone quiet inside him. No orange light, no hum of power. Just emptiness.

And the soldiers drew nearer.

Shadow’s mind frayed as memory lanced through him - of the first time he slipped into chaos control as a child, lost in blackness, spat back out half-broken onto cold steel. Of Gerald leading him into ruination, always watching, always nudging, training, experimenting. Of scars, surgeries, winters of starvation and trials until he had become less boy, more weapon.

It’d been an accident. A blur he cannot fathom. It’s like he’d been slammed between two palms cast in darkness.

But he remembered the pain, alright. And when the doctor told him finally what had happened - he didn’t know whether he was being played with or not. Jumping space and time? Physics denied it. 

Somehow…He’d done it, though. Pulverised himself under the pressure of matter. His bones had shattered, his skin had split. And he briefly recalls a sound and a pop as his hip was punched back into place. 

It explained the purpose of said inhibitor rings. 

Their precious lab rat could not, under any circumstance, be damaged. 

Shadow had become an enigma. Something - alien. A happy, but unexpected finding. A vessel for medical advancement. ‘His purpose had quickly changed’ he thought as his broken ribs rubbed against his lung.  

He’d grown from a seedling into a blooming flower. The tiny bud he was, spreading its neon petals of coursing power. He’d quickly become…dangerous. 

His potential had quickly become irresistible. The stakes became larger. And Shadow…had become hope. 

A healing potion. An immortal, impenetrable force carved from the feathers of a divine being. Shadow became fear. Something - even more so alien than before. 

And at the beginning he hadn't understood. He’d been so young. So naive, asking: “Why are you hurting me? Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

He’d learned quickly why, too. 

He had survived everything, endured everything. He’d sprinted through this ‘learning curve’.  The “ultimate lifeform” not by birthright but by blade, by test tube, by cruelty.

He told himself as he skated the dome of the Ark, as his legs threatened to give, as he emptied his stomach after the unending sprint - that he was the one in control. The one behind the wheel. 

He told himself as he gasped. The skin and fur on his knuckles sawed off, the bone glistening in the light - That he was the one in control. That the titanium blocks he had to wreck stood no chance against him. 

He told himself when they denied him treatment. His body bleeding, rugged - That he was the one in control. He didn’t need someone to take care of him. 

He had learned to lie to himself: that it was all for the greater good, that Gerald’s pride outweighed his pain. He had swallowed every order, every cut, every demand to run, to fight, to destroy. He had lied to himself because what else could he do?

The mandatory experiments were never debated, but awaited. Expected. And it wasn’t the pain, the deep sorrow in his body that made it feel like terror - but the disappointment on Dr Robotnik's face if he didn’t go through with it. Get the wanted results.  

But soon - winter had arrived. It’d rolled in with harsher, colder winds than ever before. It’d been angry. Loud. It'd hated Shadow for his bones were too brittle, his fur coat too thin. His chapped lips had cracked when it sucked the colour from him. 

And sooner than later - his flower petals began to fall. The vibrancy of his hues paled. His stem wilted from the lack of sun and his thorns hardened under the burden. It all crumbled, faded for not even ash to remain. 

That winter, it’d snowed so hard, Shadow truly believed they wouldn’t find him under it. 

The translucent tubes dripping with rainbows of solutions had become his veins. He’d become a scattered field of them, a pincushion punched through by needles. The itch that accompanied the fellow sting that throbbed, an insatiable ache. He was more robot than anything. An android. He couldn’t see humanity past the wires - in the wounds that were littered in the chipping bits of the leather chair he was strapped. He couldn’t pick them out before he healed. 

He’d become compliant. Non-verbal - and he couldn’t pin down at what point he gave up. He just…didn’t have fight left in him anymore. Not when they stabbed him, not even when they pumped him with an unknown concoction. The side effects and withdrawal symptoms, spiraling his mind into madness.

As a child, he’d come to crave man’s poison. He hadn’t let them know that though. He couldn’t let them know how many pegs far they’ve knocked him down. 

That winter, it’d rained and Shadow had almost drowned. 

He screamed. Again. Again. Again - to the sound of hacking as his arm fell away from his shoulder. The agony had been inevitably gruesome, de-humanising as the butcher's knife blemished in his blood flickered across his half-conscious vision. 

He’d been reduced to whimpering like a sad dog. 

That winter, the storm was so strong, Shadow thought its rage would whisk him away. 

It meant naught. They would not respond to his banging fist on the glass as the green substance gathered at his waist. He’d never been in cryo at this point, he didn’t know what they wanted. It was closing in on him, it was rising. And rising. And rising. 

He took a deep inhale when his lungs could hold no longer. 

That winter, the sun ascended. It’d smiled in bright gold and Shadow…Shadow felt it touch him for the first time. 

Maria

He’d been suspicious. Scared. He couldn’t trust her dimples - she’d be just like them, too. Like the ones in the lab coats. But as he looked, he couldn’t find it - The bloodlusting need to deceive or exploit. She’d been innocent. Kind. Hope in a bottle.

Her warmth, her laughter. Fingers against the glass of his tank. A promise kept. She had been the sun in his endless winter, thawing him, drawing him back from the ice. With her, he bloomed. He lived. He had a reason.

The sampling’s lost petals had never regrown, but it’d survived the remaining winter - And he never knew one as cold as this, ever again. 

And now, broken in the hall, bleeding onto the tiles, he thought of her again.

He’d perfected every mistake. He’d wielded the craft of chaos to excellence. He’d fucking mastered it, honed it’s power. And yet-

He’d never hurt as much as now. Shadows blood leaked from every wedged wound. His sore, tender muscles shivering as he put weight on them. Roads of red splats followed him. 

Damaged goods - The doctors echo rattled in his skull. 

Like a wild animal caught in a trap, Shadow hissed, dragging his mangled ankle up over the narrow platform of the skirting board. He had reached the launch room entrance at last - a victory worth celebrating, if only he had the strength.

“Not the time, Shadow,” he whispered to himself, his voice no stronger than breath. With care he lowered his leg, but the moment he did, the edges of his vision blackened. Blood loss stole his balance, and he pitched forward.

Instinct snapped his arm out to catch himself, but instead it slammed against the tile floor with a brutal crack. The wound in his shoulder split open, bleeding heavier, and the impact jarred every thought clean out of his mind. All he could focus on was the screaming coil of pain spiraling up his leg and back.

Through half-lidded eyes, his neck craned toward the pod waiting in the launch bay - its rounded frame pristine and untouched, flickering lights glancing off its shell. It loomed above him, pitifully out of reach, mocking his weakness. He couldn’t rise. Instead, he clawed at the tiles, dragging himself forward in pitiful scrapes, his hands trembling like autumn leaves. The pain wasn’t measurable anymore - it was infinite.

Why was he hurting? Why was he not healing?

The questions rang in his head with a desperate edge he hated. It didn’t make sense. Why had the vacuum of space crushed him like this? Why hadn’t his inhibitors shut down chaos control if they’d known it would destroy him?

He wasn’t supposed to be withering, collapsing like that hedgehog he once was. He hadn’t suffered torture, surgery, and endless training only to decay into a heap of broken bones and spilled blood. A pathetic ruin. The humiliation burned, even though no eyes were watching. He clawed at the cracks between tiles, dragging himself forward, each inch a miserable caricature of the weapon he was meant to be.

But he wasn’t that shivering hoglet anymore. He wasn’t that helpless child cowering beneath the glare of white coats. He had grown. He was the ultimate lifeform. So why was he falling apart?

He reached inward, toward the frayed corners of his consciousness, desperate to feel a trace of that power. He plunged into the abyss within him, searching. Again. There - a filament of orange, a thread of chaos. He reached, stretching with shaking hands of his mind. Just as he brushed it - whoosh. Gone. 

Where was that familiar glow? Why wouldn’t it answer him?

Rage ignited. He drove his fist into the tiles. Even weakened, the blow splintered black cracks across the surface. Growling into the empty air, he fumbled back into his quills with his injured arm. His fingers dug through the tangled mess until they scraped against a dull corner. With a snarl, he lurched, seizing the object despite the agony it ripped through his shoulder.

Blood streamed down his arm, matting his fur. His eyes stung with tears - not of fear, but of sheer effort. He dragged out the card, clutched it tight, and shoved himself toward the control panel. His spine arched in agony as he reached for the slit.

He swiped it once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.

His trembling was too violent, his frustration boiling over into a roar. The shouts of G.U.N soldiers echoed at the end of the hall - the door slamming open. Panic spurred him, muscles screaming as he forced himself higher. He shoved the card again. Finally, with a hiss of steam, the door jolted open.

Shadow’s chest heaved, lungs threatening to burst. He hacked out a cough, spattering blood across the pod’s outer wall. The strap attached to the door swung loose, taunting him. He snatched it, using its leverage to haul his limp body inside. His legs - useless weights - dragged behind.

He bit down so hard on the inside of his cheek that blood welled, trying to stifle the cries tearing from his throat. If they pulled him from this pod, he knew he couldn’t resist. He couldn’t fight. Not like this.

Tucking his ruined legs inside, he grasped the strap again and yanked the door closed. The latch sealed with a hiss. His bloodied fingers fastened the belt across his waist. Through the small window, the first soldier burst into view, his voice barking an order, calling the others. Chaos filled the corridor outside.

Shadow had no time to think, no time to wonder at the missing piece of the puzzle gnawing at the back of his mind. His trembling hand skimmed across the console, dancing over buttons until it hit the largest and brightest. With a snarl, he slammed it down.

The pod convulsed, engines roaring as it tore free of the launch rails. Gravity abandoned him in an instant. The ship spun, hurling him against the seat. His body tensed, locking up, muscles rigid as he tried to keep his wounds from splitting wider. Breath fogged in the sudden cold, every exhale a sharp mist.

The alarms screamed. The engines howled. His stomach lurched in the zero-gravity chaos. Blood flicked from his muzzle, darkening as it drifted through the air.

Shadow’s eyes fluttered. Pain carved itself deep into his bones. The void outside pressed its lull against him, black and endless.

And as unconsciousness claimed him, one thought blazed through the haze: Where the hell had his chaos gone?

Chapter Text

A pod encased in fire plummeted. For thousands of miles it streaked in blue flame across the sky, dragging a road of black smoke in its wake. Inside, the heat boiled over.

The craft rocked like a ship caught in tidal waves. It rattled - jerked - tossed Shadow conscious as his head smacked against the wall. Shockwaves tore through his limbs as he was flung sideways, the seatbelt at his waist straining to contain him.

A scream ripped from his throat. Shadow grimaced against the blistering wall, his gaze flicking to his shoulder - dislocated, swollen - before the pod shrieked and spun hard. “Shi -” The curse broke free as his head snapped forward, his eyebrow splitting open on impact.

Blood ran hot into his eyes, blinding him. He wrenched his head back into the seat cushion, pawing desperately to clear his vision while the pod shuddered around him.

He groaned into stagnant air. No one but the blaze could hear him.

The window misted as he knifed into Earth’s atmosphere, the clash of freezing void and searing friction spreading across the glass. Through the haze of red and the blur of onrushing green, Shadow realized the pod was only minutes from impact.

His ride lit like fireworks and collapsing suns, the console sparking and flickering as if locked in a race for survival. The ship bucked onto his injured side. “God damn it -” Shadow clenched his jaw as pressure crushed him, ribs creaking like splintering wood beneath his skin.

Gravity shifted. His fur bristled. He coiled tight against the seatbelt, white-knuckled, holding on.

His stomach lurched - turning him green - as he reached shakily for the wall rail. His fingers barely caught it, weakly curling around the metal. All the while he prayed - just fucking prayed - that the spinning would end. His eyes widened behind the veil of blood as he dared another look through the window.

Land.

The pod hit.

Earth erupted. The craft punched a crater into the soil, digging deep, grinding like it sought the planet’s core. Shadow sank with it as the flames guttered out and the ground itself burned. His body rattled with the impact, his teeth whining under the force. Plants and roots charred to black husks as the forest bent in a wave of ash and wind.

And then - silence.

Earth. He’d fucking made it.

Through ragged breaths, Shadow heard the ship sigh. Like an egg on hot oil, its shell sizzled and cracked, bleeding red light. The heat spread, the “yolk” of the machine swirling and mutating as systems failed.

What the hell?

He blinked at the sea of switches and buttons - meaningless. “Fuck it.” His hands slammed across them, twisting what he shouldn’t, forcing what he couldn’t. Nothing worked. The ship refused to release him.

The heat built. The air grew heavy, wet, suffocating.

Shadow ripped open a panel of wires. When the console stayed dead, he tore them out by the fistful - sparks spitting, metal screeching.

Bingo.

He froze. A hiss cut through the humid air - the sharp exhale of pressurized gas slipping through a narrow seam. 

Shadow watched as the silver skin of the pod began to flake away, paint chipping from the inner belly and drifting down in the faint breeze. It was soft, almost curious in its fall. Then the pod cried out, a hushed symphony of metal as its outer shell peeled open. Fragments pattered against the floor, scattering like brittle rain, until a gap split wide across the body of the ship.

He squinted at the new found light leaking in. The exit - a tiny hole in the center. Small but real. 

The pod wailed again - this time louder, in a guttural cry that shook its frame. It was a warning. And Shadow knew it only meant one thing. Time was slipping. 

His hand flew to the seatbelt, fingers raking at the strap that cut into his dislocated shoulder. A hiss escaped him - this thing had bruised, bound, and held him prisoner. With a surge of fury, he wrenched, twisted, and ripped until the plastic snapped free.

He drew in a breath - and gagged. Christ what is that? The oil was thick in the air, its musk coiling with threat. The reek of gasoline filled his lungs. The belt crunched in his fist as he hurled the pesky thing. And only then, realised how cold he felt.

Clammy, sticky, trembling, even in this furnace. 

His head spun, dazed and woozy, and he wished for only one thing: out.

His eyes locked on the sparks crackling in the cabin. Static crawled across broken wires, snapping in the dark. If one ember touched the fuel bleeding from the pod’s engine, he wouldn’t have long.

Leaning forward, he didn’t trust his legs. His fists clenched, his arms trembled, but he reared back, swallowing the cries his body wanted to make. He struck. Weak, but enough. The pod - damaged, battered - yielded, its shell shuddering under his blows. Knuckles scraped raw against jagged edges, each strike shaking more metal loose. His gloves smoked where they pressed the scorched hull.

Heat baked his skin, evaporating sweat before it could fall, glistening him in a sheen. He pulled back and slammed again. Plates buckled. Wires rained. His lungs shriveled under the smoke, coughing with each gasp, but he didn’t stop. Not until the opening yawned wide, a passage torn through the wreck.

“...Tch.” The sound slipped through clenched teeth as he leaned back, gathering his breath. One hand clamped onto the seat, knuckles whitening with the pressure. He didn’t look down for long - There wasn’t time. 

His legs twitched when he forced them to move. Pain seared like nettles biting into his skin, but they obeyed. He exhaled through his nose, sharp, relieved. Not paralyzed. Good. He planted his feet, steadying himself, and pushed upright.

His hand hooked around the chair’s headrest, the other grasping for the golden rail on the wall. The beam was thick, slick with heat, but his grip tightened all the same. His eyes narrowed, not at the struggle but at himself - weakness was unacceptable.

A low growl rumbled as he braced. Core muscles strained, his shoulder burned, his ankle screamed under the weight. He forced it anyway, every ounce of strength driven into movement. The pain was nothing. He had endured worse.

And he would endure this.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. The world tilted, his vision swimming, but he refused to move until it steadied. A slow inhale through the nose, a measured release through clenched teeth. Again. Again. Until the haze dulled and control returned.

He pushed forward. His knees threatened to give, his body fought against him, but he stayed upright. No complaint. No acknowledgment. One step. Then another. A limp carried him, but his balance held. His boots sank into the soil, and for the first time, Shadow set foot on Earth.

The ground was softer than expected, wet and heavy beneath him, a thick drag of mud clinging to his steps. He lowered his gaze - grey grains, dense and damp, the texture almost familiar. Maria had described it once. He had imagined it, studied it in books, but feeling it under him was different. He resisted the urge to kneel and touch it. 

Wasting strength now was pointless.

He turned his attention outward. The crater walls curved high, their edge hidden beneath thick branches and leaves. His eyes scanned quickly. No ladder. No vines. No clear path. Chaos energy was out of the question - too unstable. 

He pivoted back toward the pod and climbed onto its battered shell, muscles protesting every movement but not slowing him.

At the rim, he paused. His eyes widened despite himself. Beyond the crater lay forests, skies, a living world he had never known. The images from books, Maria’s stories - alive, breathing, spread before him in colors he had never seen with his own eyes.

A rare gasp escaped him. For a moment, the soldier was gone, and only Shadow remained - staring at the world Maria had wanted him to see.

The forest stretched endlessly. Oaks with dark, weathered trunks rose beside pale birches spotted black, their crowns draped in emerald leaves that caught the light with a glossy sheen. Willows bowed low, their branches trailing like sorrowful arches. Bark cracked, roots tore through patches of grass, but together they stood - a canopy vast and unbroken. He couldn’t see where it ended. The tallest reached high, their blossoms pale against green, like stars tangled in hair.

For a fleeting moment, Shadow imagined plucking one free.

Beneath them sprawled bushes, wild and uneven, branches gnawed by animals. At their base, color erupted - clusters of yellow, pink, violet, and blue pressing close together. Flowers of shapes he had never seen: some towering, some bowed, some with wide heads, others with twisted petals like tongues reaching out. It caught him off guard, drew at the edges of a smile he didn’t allow. From the roof of the pod, with the sight before him, Maria’s face lingered in his mind.

He remembered her voice as she traced black-and-white sketches in a book, her finger sliding gently over the page. Volumes stacked at her side, one balanced across her lap. She always tilted it, just enough so he could see, even when he couldn’t yet read. She wanted him included.

The fragrance of her dress, the softness of her tone - it had steadied him through the sting of needles and the cold hands of doctors. She pretended to read for the room, but he knew she spoke for him. Every word of hers drew the world closer, the way she gave names and traits to flowers he had never touched. He had held onto them all, memorizing their shapes through her eyes.

“I think you would be an orchid if you were a flower”  

Maria shut her book with a soft thump, the bent pages pressed flat by the cover. She craned her head back toward him where she sat at his feet. The doctors were gone; the room was quiet. Shadow frowned at her words, trying to recall which flower she meant. He couldn’t. He tapped her forehead lightly, then pointed at the book without a word.

“Oh, you forgot what an orchid is?” she teased. “They’re really pretty - look.”

She flipped the book open again, pages whispering as her finger slid down the index until she gave a quiet “aha.” She scrambled to the right page, smoothing it flat with her palm before jabbing at the drawing. “The orchid. Known for its wide array of forms and colours.” She shoved the book at him without hesitation.

Caught off guard, Shadow almost dropped it. He caught it just in time and let out a sharp huff, irritated by her carelessness. She only grinned, unaffected, which made his jaw twitch with something halfway between annoyance and amusement.

He held the book steady, studying the sketch. Large petals, spread like wings, patterned with stripes and dots. He traced one shape with a gloved finger, then drew back - frustrated that he couldn’t read the text beneath. Another reminder of how old and outdated the Ark’s resources were. Still, a single word caught his eye. One he could recognize, though it puzzled him.

“Why an orchid?” he asked flatly.

Maria scooted closer, her hair swinging as she leaned forward, hands resting on her knees. “Flowers have meanings. It depends on the kind and even the colour. But…” She flipped the book back toward herself, found the line, and pointed. “Cymbidium orchids. They stand for strength and nobility.”

Her finger shifted down to a section outlined in thick borders. “And orange ones, especially… boldness, success, and sunshine.”

Shadow blinked at the list. He knew that last word. Sunshine. His lip twitched faintly.

“That doesn’t sound like me.” His voice was low, edged with disbelief. His body curled in on itself before he noticed.

Maria tilted her head, chewing at her cheek before returning to the text. A beat of silence passed. When she spoke again, her tone softened. “I think differently. You are strong. And noble. Even if you don’t see it.”

He glanced at her sidelong.

“You sit through things most people couldn’t,” she continued quietly. “You don’t have to, but you do. That’s strength. That’s nobility. You keep promises - like teaching me to skate, remember?”

His chest tightened, the words hitting places he didn’t want touched. He looked away, ears flicking. She thought of him that way… not for chaos, not for destruction, but for perseverance.

“And boldness? That’s easy,” she added, grin returning. “You’re blunt. You don’t hesitate to act, even if it shocks everyone else. Like when you snuck out of the consultation room so we could steal food from the cafeteria.”

Shadow let out a short snort, half a laugh. She was insufferable. And he didn’t mind.

Maria’s voice gentled again. “Success… well, that depends on the person. For me, it’s living without regret. Seeing the world. What’s success to you?”

He froze, caught between answers he couldn’t choose. Cure her. Protect her. Would either be enough? His hands shifted restlessly, shame tugging at him. “I… don’t know,” he muttered.

“That’s fine,” she said simply, covering his hand with hers. “You have time to figure it out.”

For once, he didn’t pull away.

She tilted her lashes up at him, careful. “Want me to keep going?”

Shadow hesitated, then gave a single nod.

“Am I not the opposite of sunshine? My name is Shadow.”

Maria’s laugh was quiet as she flipped back through the book. “‘Sunshine,’” he mouthed to himself - the only word he had recognized on the page.

“Well,” she asked, tossing a metaphorical ball into his court, “when sunshine falls on something, what does it create?”

He caught it easily. “…A shadow.”

“Exactly. But without sunshine, there’d be no shadow. One can’t exist without the other. Which means…” She grinned, mischief flashing in her eyes.

He leaned forward, wary. “…What?”

“That even if you see yourself as a shadow, you’re also proof of light. To me, you are sunshine.”

The words hit harder than he expected. His breath caught, his eyes sliding down to his hands as if they might betray him. “…You think that. Truly?”

She stood, taller than him even now, and bent forward slightly, her expression soft but steady. “In my life, you shine brighter than any sun, Shadow.”

He couldn’t answer, not properly. His throat choked.

“So,” she teased lightly, “what flower do you think I am?”

The response came without thought. “Lavender.”

She raised her brows. “And why’s that?”

“Because you smell like it.”

Her laugh rang out bright and unguarded, her eyes watering from giggles as she clutched her stomach. He frowned, half confused, half offended - hadn’t her perfume been lavender?

“Good guess, hound-nose,” she teased between chuckles. Then, softening again, she added, “Since we’ve picked each other’s flowers… when we go to Earth someday, we’ll make a bouquet. Yours and mine together.”

Now he saw them - wild orchids, white streaked with pink - spilling across the forest floor beside every colour but hers. Purples of every shade: indigo, lilac, violet, even periwinkle. But no lavender.

“Earth. Your home’s here. With me.”

Maria’s voice whispered through his memory as Shadow stared into the living goldmine of nature. Nothing like the plastic mock-ups on the Ark. He felt the phantom scrape of those fake flowers on his back. Purple, but never lavender.

A sudden racket snapped him out of it - a black blur cutting across the sky. A bird, coal-feathered with flecks of brown and rust, its wings slicing the air like blades. It called once, a sharp note like a torn piece of sheet music. He followed it to where it perched, tiny talons gripping a crooked nest. A living thing, real and imperfect. More than any sketch he’d ever seen.

They were supposed to see this together. The memory clawed at him: Maria’s voice, bright with plans. “When we go to Earth, we’ll make a bouquet. Yours and mine together.” Now it was just him. Alone.

He hissed under his breath. This beauty wasn’t meant for him. Not like this. Not alone.

Shadow flattened his hands against the pod and slid off the side. The machine would give way soon enough; he needed to move. The jump to the top was too far in his current state. He landed on his good leg, gritting through the pain in the other as he limped to the crater wall.

The ground was sludge. He wiped his palm against it, grimaced, and dug in anyway. The only way out was up.

He jammed the toe of his air-shoe deep into the mud, wedged it until it caught, then pushed himself up, inch by inch. Pain bit at his nerves like sparks under his skin, but he climbed. He’d endured worse. He’d endure this.

His lungs burned, the walls slickened with rain, mud splattering across his face. His gloves slipped; his shoes lost their purchase. Still, he drove his fingers into the muck again and again. If he stopped, he’d fall. If he waited, he’d die. This was it.

A growl ripped from his chest - wounded, primal. He refused to go down like this. Not with Maria’s name still carved into his mind.

The Ultimate Lifeform can handle anything.

He forced himself upward, muscles trembling, eyes narrowing on a tree root jutting from the wall. He lunged, gripped, nearly slipped - but held. Mud slid down his arms, his fur crawling with grit, but his grip stayed true.

He leaned close to the wall, chest pressed to the dirt, and exhaled. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct screamed to let go, but he bit it down. He wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

“Okay,” he rasped to himself, eyes shut tight. “Don’t fall.”

He peeled one hand off the wall, body shaking from the loss of support. Adjusting his balance, he arched forward, steadying his breath, then forced his finger into his mouth. He didn’t look down. He wouldn’t. One movement at a time.

The mud tasted exactly as he expected - foul, bitter, clinging to his tongue like rot. He bit down and ripped at it anyway, teeth grinding through the compact, densely woven mess. The earthy grit coated his mouth, but he ignored it. The inhibitors locked over his hands, the tech woven into those white gloves, resisted with shrill defiance. They refused to yield, tearing only by fractions, inch by inch - painfully slow against gravity’s pull.

A low, guttural growl rumbled up his chest as his muzzle curled back in frustration.

“I’ll drop before I let this cursed junk stop me - ” His curse muffled by the gloves, Shadow yanked harder, fingers clawing into the wall to hold himself steady. At last, the microfibers gave, splitting ragged down the center. He spat the shredded pieces away, the fragments scattering into the mud below.

“One down. One to go.” His exhale tore into the air, clouding in a plume of mist as the temperature sank. Rain fell heavier, the droplets pelting his face and sliding down his fur.

He punched his bare palm into the wall. The cold hit instantly, biting into his skin, but the grip was sharper, truer, now freed of synthetic interference. He adjusted his footing, released his other hand, and repeated the process. Faster this time. The mud gave way, his claws digging deep, each motion steadier, more precise.

Rinse, repeat. He muttered the rhythm under his breath, climbing hand over hand, foot over foot. The mantra steadied him. His pulse spiked when his fingertips finally brushed the wet strands of grass at the rim - living proof that escape was within reach.

The rain tried to drag him down, battering his back, but Shadow drove through, unrelenting. With a final lunge, he heaved himself upward. For a suspended heartbeat he was weightless - then he crashed hard onto the earth. His back slammed the uneven ground, knocking the air clean from his lungs.

Pathetic. Since when had he been this poor at handling impact?

A gasp clawed its way out as he rolled to his side, throat tight, lungs desperate. Then - air. Fresh, clean, sharp. He choked a laugh, low and strained, as relief hit. His trembling hands loosened against his throat as he dragged in another breath, then another.

Not long, though. He couldn’t rest. His eyes caught the trail of smoke twisting up from the crater, a signal to anyone watching: here he is. The evidence of his crash carved into the earth like a beacon. Reality set in fast.

Shadow forced himself upright, staggering, every wound screaming. He leaned against the nearest tree, bark biting into his raw palm. His gaze flicked back to the cavity, then upward. The sun’s descent painted the sky in fire - orange, gold, deepening red. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to appreciate it.

But the sky betrayed him. Specks hovered in the distance, growing clearer with every second - pods, triangular wings cutting through the clouds. G.U.N. was already coming. Silver glints flashed like fish scales in the fading light, swarming closer.

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. He had to move. Far, fast, until his body gave out. Only then - only at the end - would he allow them to take him.

He searched the horizon for something familiar, a silhouette of the Ark - his home. Nothing. Too far, too high, out of sight. His chest tightened, the thought cutting deep. He had wanted one last glimpse, but it would remain beyond reach.

He turned away. The trees would shield him, the canopy swallowing his trail. With a final push from the trunk, he forced his body to march. Each step was mechanical - one, two, one, two - the mantra nagging like static in his head. The uneven ground tripped him again and again, but he pressed forward, refusing collapse.

Everything hurt. Every nerve burned. Every cell throbbed.

Still, he moved.

When a searing spike tore through his shoulder and dropped him to his knees. The pinch of metal lodged deep in his flesh making his head loll, vision swim.

Shadow hissed through his teeth, ankle and back screaming with it. That damned wound - He’d carried it since the Ark. Abraham’s bullet, buried deep in his shoulder like a parasite. 

His hand clamped over the puncture, claws ghosting the edges. Hesitation wavered in his chest. Rip it out or leave it?

Engines roared closer. He already knew the answer.

No choice. Not anymore.

He jammed a claw into the tear, biting down hard on a grunt as he dug deep. Tissue ripped, blood slicked his fingers. Black hazed the edges of his vision. His heart thundered in his ears. Where is it? Where the hell is it? He shoved further, every nerve flaring like fire under his skin.

Then - metal. A sharp ping against his claw. Shadow hunched, angled his finger, and hooked the edge of the object.

Got you.

He pried it free with precision, ignoring the hot stream of blood that followed. Muscles screamed. His hand shook, but he dragged it out anyway. Finally, the blunt shape broke through the wound, and he tore it out. The tracker gleamed between his fingers, red light pulsing like it mocked him.

“Good luck finding me now.” His voice was low, venom-laced. He clenched it in his fist and crushed it flat. The flicker died with a crunch. He scattered the fragments - one to the brush, one into a hollow tree, another to a puddle. Nothing left. Nothing for them to follow.

He pushed himself upright, swaying like the trees around him. The shoulder burned raw, pain clawing down his spine. His quills bristled as he tried to summon his power, tried to drown the agony in chaos energy. He reached, pulled -

-and caught nothing.

His hand closed through smoke. Again. Again. The energy slipped away each time, intangible, taunting. A growl shook his chest as the pain in his shoulder flared white-hot. Chaos had always been his weapon, his lifeline. Now it was like a serpent sliding from his grip, coiling just out of reach, scales glinting gold before vanishing into the dark.

Shadow staggered, biting his lip until it split. He slammed his palm against his ribs, forcing the energy to come, but it slithered away again, mocking. A phantom hiss echoed in his skull. Next time.

He dragged himself forward on a makeshift crutch, a heavy branch pressed under his arm. Each step drove a spike into his ribs, the wood creaking under the weight. Questions gnawed at him with every pounding heartbeat. His wrists ached where the inhibitors bit down. None of it made sense. None of it.

He faltered, breath ragged, eyes narrowing on the path ahead.

“What the hell did you do to me, Towers?”

The name cut sharper than the pain. He clenched his jaw and kept moving.

He sat at last on a freezing rock, mind slipping in and out like waves on stone. He groaned, craving something soft to wrap around his limbs. The bite of the wind and the sting of rain wetting his fur didn’t bother him as much as before. His eyes blinked into a dozing blur. Realizing it, he forced them wide, veins in his sclera blooming red.

The forest looked the same. Denser, maybe. As though it was folding in around him.

Day had bled into night. The wildlife gone quiet, clucks and chitters dying out. He could barely see his own feet now, fading into darkness beneath him. He sighed, pushed himself up, and hobbled forward. Best to move while he still could.

G.U.N. was still on his scent.

He hissed, trying to straighten his crutch as splinters dug into his palms. Exhaustion dragged at him; even now, limping, he fought to keep his eyes open. Oh, what he’d do for sleep. Get on his knees, beg for a roof, maybe even thank them for it with a kiss if they forced him -

He shook the thought out. Un-Shadow-like. He’d lost too much blood. The bleeding wouldn’t stop; he felt like he’d poured a pool of himself into the dirt. Still, he resisted the urge to call on chaos. His healing was nothing without it. He had to think of something else.

For now - watching. Always watching.

His paranoia focused on eyes he thought were there. Crawling, waiting, something creeping for a chance to swoop in, to strike while he couldn’t fight back. He muttered under his breath with wheezes. Tactful pursuit? Maybe. But the air smelled the same. No shift in sound. Nothing.

He silenced his ramble, glaring down at his twisted leg.

He needed treatment. He knew it. But he’d never relied on it. Bandages were a joke. Medicines - bitter sweets. The ankle was mangled, pushed so far sideways it threatened to breach skin. Another burden to carry.

A disgusting sight. He turned his nose up at it. Healing was futile, useless. He couldn’t lean on it like he used to. The rest of his body was bruised, battered, torn from escape and capture alike.

Red on red. Black turned burgundy. He couldn’t tell where one wound started and another ended. A doll mauled by the jaws of some starving beast.

Blood dried and flaked with each stretch of his limbs, each step swinging his legs forward in excruciating rhythm. Cuts stung sharply, jabbing like pins as the cooling wind punched at them. Yellow-green pus mingled with crimson, oozing down his wrist as hours passed. The stench of infection curled his lip.

He refused to gag. He’d been in worse states.

He’d also had his “healing”, once.

But Shadow hated the memory of it - the rattle of bottles, the pop of plastic caps, every color and shape poured into his palm by latex-gloved hands. Get it down you, boy. The slam of the container against metal echoed even now.

He despised the pinch at his elbow, the way a needle slid through that thin layer of flesh without hesitation. Revolting. The micropricks of red left behind were their souvenirs.

Now his skin burned cold, dropping lower than the air around him. A warning. He was running out of options. The infection spread like wildfire under his fur, rotting him from the inside out. For one grim moment, he considered cutting the limb off, stopping the corruption before it reached his heart. But then what? Dice himself apart until nothing remained?

Death had already taken root, painting his wounds sickly. A swamp of bacteria and fungus eating him alive, luring him into the beckoning arms of sleep. Irresistible, inviting. But if he gave in -he knew. He wouldn’t wake again. Not in days, not weeks. Not ever.

Shadow’s body shivered violently beneath a strike of thunder. The storm grew worse with every hour of his own decline. His teeth clenched, his body deteriorating piece by piece.

And Maria came to him again.

Unbidden, her face filled his mind, soft and luminous even as rain blurred his eyes. He hated how the memory ripped a smile from him, crooked, toothless, but a smile nonetheless.

He thought of her champagne-blonde hair, tied with that pale blue ribbon. Her favorite dress—cerulean, yes - that was the shade. Puff sleeves like half-deflated balloons, duchess lace circling the hem. He remembered her small hands sewing, guiding his own claws to stitch a single thread in the underskirt. Blending perfectly, invisible - yet somehow, she always found it, always praised him for it.

Her eyes - crystals he’d never see the likes of again. Agate swirled inside them, rare and alive. Her laugh, bright and reckless, breaking into gasps when she couldn’t breathe. Her impulsiveness, her hunger for books, for flowers, for music, for life itself. For everything.

And now - she slept. Lost in that void.

A void he had thrust her into.

The thought split him open. His breath caught - and then the world itself did too.

The ground lurched. The forest shook like a snow globe, trees bending under the quake. Rain paused mid-fall as thunder roared from below. The earth stomped beneath him, rocks skittering like vermin. Shadow froze rigid, clutching his crutch until his bloodied fingers trembled numb. The wood tore from the mud and clattered away as his eyes snapped left, right, up, down - searching.

Nothing. Nothing but darkness.

He staggered back, instinct planting his injured foot—pain detonating through him. His heart pounded as hard as the earth quaked. That thing - that someone - was here. The one that had been trailing him.

Shadow shoved himself against a tree, dragging his ruined ankle behind him, knees bent low, body coiled though every joint screamed. His lip curled, a growl deepening into a snarl. Fists clenched until his claws drew burrows in his palms. His ears pinned flat. Fury lit his gut, swallowing the fear, forcing it down into rage.

The mountainside answered with a crash, boulders breaking loose, tumbling like an avalanche. Dust rose, choking the forest. Nature itself rebelled, crying out with a thousand war-drums as the storm raged on.

Shadow’s quills bristled and scraped bark. His eyes caught it then - a hazy green dot, vivid and wrong against the dark. It rose, swelled, spread, until it became a dome of shimmering light swallowing the forest whole. Shadow recoiled, the glow burning across his vision.

A rush of movement startled him. Deer burst past, spotted coats flashing, hooves pounding mud. Birds tore through the canopy in a frenzy, wings scattering feathers. A rabbit darted at their heels. The forest erupted into chaos, animals fleeing in one desperate, terrified herd.

The night was alive with panic. And Shadow, standing broken at its center, felt it.

He pressed himself flush to the tree trunk, trying to melt into the bark. A squirrel streaked down, its claws grazing the air inches from his cheek before it sprang to the ground and bolted. Shadow’s gaze flicked back to the dome. Something about it - familiar, haunting. Its aura pulled at him, fingers twirling him like a toy. His eyes widened despite himself.

A distraction, his mind whispered.

Power rippled inside the field, so close to his own it made his quills prickle. It grew, swelling with no sign of stopping. He could almost feel it breathing. He pressed closer to the bark, willing himself to become the tree. Back bent, hands gripping the roots, he used the trunk as a shield against the typhoon radiating from that thing - whatever it was. He didn’t know its nature, but he could guess its capability.

Against it, he stood no chance.

Then - silence. The dome blinked out like it had never existed. The howling wind cut off, leaving his ears ringing. Shadow gasped, dragging in a lungful of air now that it wasn’t being forced down his nose. He straightened, staring at the sky where the glow had been. Only the afterimage burned against his vision: a silhouette.

Energy never vanished. It only shifted.

The shadow above began to twist, spark, and flare - phosphorescent rainbows bursting through it - and then boom.

From its center erupted three rings, blue, purple, and red, spraying shards of light. Leaves flattened for miles, a tsunami of air roaring toward him at impossible speed. Shadow gritted his teeth. He needed lower ground. He turned to move -

- and froze.

In his panic and adrenaline his quills had flared, locking him to the trunk. A built-in defense mechanism, now his trap. The bark clamped around his spikes like claws of its own. They refused to let him go. He jerked, muscles tearing, pain spiking white through him. Not now. Chaos, not now. The ligaments anchoring his quills began to rip under the strain.

He yanked harder, sweat stinging his eyes, the aftershock rumbling closer like an oncoming freight train. This wasn’t how he would die - not from blood loss, not from infection, but pinned like a specimen to a tree. “Not like this,” he growled under his breath.

The oak groaned, its body splintering. Before he could react it cracked apart. The earthquake must’ve - Shadow’s stomach dropped as the trunk gave way and gravity seized him.

He toppled with the breaking tree, the world tilting yet again. “Chaos - ” He cursed as the bark slid through mud loosened by the storm. Down the cliffside they went, hurtling without control.

Air screamed past him, whipping his fur. The trunk spun like a javelin, rotating faster than any treadmill at the Ark. Acid crawled up his throat as the ground rushed closer - a sword of earth ready to cut him open.

Another tree slammed into the trunk, jarring his quills. The weight on his back crushed his ribs. If he didn’t get free he’d be nothing but a splatter on the forest floor. He tried pushing off, the wind pressure fighting him, but he was too weak, too broken. Yesterday he would have shattered the trunk; today it held him like steel.

He twisted and punched at it anyway, claws splitting, useless without Chaos. The ground’s dark mouth opened beneath him. “Fuck!” he spat - Gerald’s favorite word. He squeezed his eyes shut as the air roared, meters dwindling fast. No time left for memories.

Then - whiplash.

His head snapped forward. Stars burst behind his eyes as his quills finally tore free, ripping blood and tissue with them. An involuntary cry cracked from his throat as he dropped, limp as a marionette. He hit the dusty ground, grey puffing up around him. His ankle ignited, pain corrosive, melting his nerves.

A sob tore free, raw and unguarded. His other leg snapped; his arm crumpled under him. The wind left his lungs in a choking rush, dirt piling around his face. He rasped, forcing his breaths shallow, trying to trick his body into calm. It wouldn’t stop. The pain only grew, filling him like water in a flask.

He clawed at the ground with his last working hand, nails breaking and bleeding. It didn’t matter. Nothing stemmed the surge. He wailed into the pit’s stale air, mossy scent filling his nose. He curled smaller, embarrassed at the gesture, but it was all he had left for comfort. Alone. Like he was meant to be.

His hips, ribs, arms, ankles - every part of him screamed. His heart thudded weakly. Everything was breaking. Everything was broken.

He brushed his side, vision going dark at the edges. A cut had opened across his chin where he hit the ground, but no blood came. There was nothing left to bleed. Only pain, exploding behind his eyes, numbing and searing all at once. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even raise a hand to his temple.

Limbs scattered on the floor, he hiccupped, frozen, tears running fat down his muzzle. He tried to lift his head - just lift his head - but pain stole the motion, cruel fingers stroking him with everything but love. The theatre of torment burned hotter, branding him with old memories of experiments. His back arched, a sob rattling his chest, voice shredding his thoughts to pieces. He collapsed, eyes delirious, the world spinning even in darkness.

Maybe it was better this way. Trapped but hidden. G.U.N. would never find his body.

In death he’d finally be free of their needles and questions. Thank Chaos for that.

A pink drool slipped from his mouth as a smirk crept across it. Despite everything, he’d won.

His shoulders sagged, head tipping to the dirt, voice slurring as his eyes rolled back. Maria, he thought hazily. What would you say if you saw this?

Wait -

Maria. He couldn’t die here. Not yet.

His lungs clogged, fighting for breath. A searing beam of blue wrapped around him, lifting him from the ground. Sleep crushed the last of his will before he could see what had found him - hero, enemy, or another curse to carry. His head lolled against a chest as unseen hands brushed his quills smooth.

And then Shadow fell into darkness.

Chapter Text

Sonic didn't find trouble - nah, it had a weird crush on him. Followed him everywhere.  

The morning crept in before he was ready.

A pale wash of sunlight pried at Sonic’s eyelids, dragging him out of a dream he didn’t care to remember. His mouth felt dry, his breath sharp with the taste of sleep. He smacked his lips, blinked groggily, and pushed himself upright with an elbow. The room was half-lit - blue shadows tangled with sunlight that slipped between the blinds, dust motes drifting in the air like lazy snow.

The remains of his dreams faded fast, dissolving like sand through his fingers. He didn’t try to hold on to them; they didn’t matter. What did matter, unfortunately, was that the sun had chosen him as its morning target.

Sonic glared at it through half-lidded eyes. “Man… who invited you?” he muttered. 

The light blazed right back, unforgiving. He groaned, dragging his pillow over his face, trying to outrun the day -  but the warmth still found him. A strip of light crawled over his arm, biting at the fur that peeked out from beneath the blanket. He sighed, defeated, and kicked the tangled fabric off in frustration.

Sitting up fully now, he rubbed at the crust gathered in the corners of his eyes. His mattress squeaked a sleepy protest under him as he stretched, his joints popping faintly. He was awake, technically, but his body had other opinions about that. His heartbeat pulsed heavy beneath his ribs, an anxious rhythm he couldn’t quite name. 

Something in him buzzed with unease, but he forced it down the moment his eyes shifted toward the bunks.

Knuckles was out cold on the top bed, half his muscular frame hanging over the edge, dreadlocks slipping like a red curtain that swayed with every snore. Below, Tails was buried in a fortress of blankets and plush toys, the tips of his twin tails barely visible beneath the pile.

The sight softened Sonic’s nerves, the irritation in his chest ebbing away like a receding tide. “Figures,” he murmured with a faint grin.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood, rolling his shoulders with a quiet groan. Making the bed could wait. He crept toward the lower bunk, careful to sidestep the creaky floorboard he knew by heart. His movements were automatic - quiet, practiced. The kind you learn when you’ve shared a room with others long enough to care not to wake them.

Kneeling beside Tails, Sonic leaned on one arm and peered at the little fox’s peaceful face. Layers upon layers of mismatched blankets cocooned him - flannel, fleece, and who-knows-what-else. The colours clashed horribly, but that was Tails for you: a mix of chaos and comfort.

Sonic chuckled under his breath and brushed a few covers back, pressing a gloved palm gently to his brother’s cheek. The fox’s warmth met his cool skin instantly, grounding him. Tails wriggled a little but didn’t wake, a sleepy grumble escaping his muzzle as his fur shifted beneath Sonic’s hand. Even half-buried in sleep, Tails smelled faintly of oil, sugar, and that crisp mint scent that was uniquely him.

Sonic’s grin softened, his thumb brushing over a tuft of messy fur. “Morning, buddy,” he whispered, voice barely louder than the hum of the air.

For a moment, he lingered there, caught between affection and hesitation. He wanted to keep going - to smooth down the kid’s hair, maybe tease him awake - but something in him clenched up. A familiar tightness. The instinct to pull back before anyone noticed too much softness. His hand curled into a fist and retreated to his side. He told himself it was nothing, but his chest burned anyway.

A small murmur broke the quiet. “Sonic…? Mornin’...” Tails slurred, eyes cracking open only to flinch shut again against the sunlight. His sleepy voice was warm and raw around the edges.

“Hey, go back to sleep, lil’ bro,” Sonic said quietly, smiling. “It’s early. You’re good.”

But before Tails could answer, the top bunk gave a loud, echoing groan. Sonic jumped slightly, eyes darting upward.

Knuckles had rolled over. Now he was peering down at Sonic, his red dreadlocks dangling just enough to brush the hedgehog’s quills. Their eyes met - sharp ruby against bright emerald - and Sonic’s entire body stiffened. Last night’s argument flashed across his mind in a blur, cutting the calm short.

So that’s why his heart had been pounding.

He turned away quickly, muttering, “Morning to you too,” as if that would erase the tension. He started to stand, but fate had other plans - the tips of his quills snagged on Knuckles’ dreads.

The yank was immediate.

Sonic froze, grimacing. Knuckles winced too, the pull sharp but small.

“Awh, c’mon!” Sonic hissed, tugging gently at his quills. “This is not how-” 

Knuckles blinked blearily down at him, his tone flat but edged with amusement. “You’re the one who got too close, hedgehog.”

“I was walking!” Sonic shot back, fumbling with his gloved fingers to free them. “You just - you’ve got grabby hair, that’s all.”

Knuckles raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but patient. “Uh-huh.”

Sonic kept struggling, grumbling apologies under his breath, desperate to avoid meeting the echidna’s gaze. Then - a firm, calloused hand caught his own.

Sonic froze. Again.

Knuckles leaned down slightly, steadying himself with his other arm. “Stop moving,” he said, tone low and calm. “You’ll just make it worse.”

Sonic obeyed, tension radiating through him as Knuckles carefully began untangling the mess. His gloves were thicker, but somehow he worked with methodical precision, easing the strands apart. Sonic could feel the faint tug with every motion, the quiet rasp of fabric against fur. Neither spoke until the last strand came loose.

“There,” Knuckles said finally, holding up a few red hairs caught on the quill tips. “Crisis averted. Guess we don’t have to call Tails for backup.”

Sonic huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Heh, thanks. Didn’t know you were adding ‘hairdresser’ to your resume.”

Knuckles smirked faintly. “Don’t push it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward this time. It was heavy with leftover laughter, something unspoken but not uncomfortable. Sonic reached up to smooth his quills, wincing at the sting, and gave Knuckles a small nudge in the arm.

“Appreciate it, Knucks,” he said, voice softer than usual.

Knuckles just shrugged, that faint smirk still ghosting across his face.

Tails stirred again below, muttering something about breakfast. Sonic glanced back at him, grin returning. Whatever weight had been pressing on his chest eased just a little. Yesterday was behind them.

For now, the morning was enough. 

Until right now, Sonic was dying of boredom - the kind that gnawed at his patience and clawed at the back of his skull. Chaos help him, he was so damn bored.

He glared at the treetops peeking over the backyard fence, every leaf shaking smugly in the breeze. The sight only made his irritation worse. He didn’t notice Knuckles’ eyes on him from the window inside, watching quietly as Sonic’s chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths. The sigh that followed whistled through his teeth - sharp, tired, and mocking the cheerful chirps of the bird perched on a nearby branch.

That same bird’s feathers were the color of shadows - the same kind that had haunted his dreams and taunted him ever since last night’s argument replayed, again and again, behind his eyes.

Sonic groaned, smacking his palm over his muzzle to shut himself up, then crossed his arms tightly over his chest. The garden chair beneath him creaked with every shift of his weight, protesting as much as he was.

Alright, think. Distractions. He started counting off everything he’d done so far today, trying to drown out the sour replay looping in his head.

After breakfast, he’d done… what, exactly? Not much, honestly. He tilted his head back, the wooden edge of the chair bumping against his spine as he thought. Breakfast, a quick game with Ozyy, helped Knuckles leash him up after - that was about it. Then he’d watched their parents rush out the door, half-dressed and half-awake, sprinting to make it to work on time.

That was his morning. A routine so stale he could trace it in his sleep.

And tomorrow? He’d have to hide better. Run faster. Keep the act up.

The cycle never really changed - he’d followed it perfectly for so long that he barely noticed it anymore. Sonic hummed, the sound barely a vibration in his throat, as he recalled how many days had bled together just like this.

A shout from behind snapped him out of his daze. “I’ll be in the shed if you need anything!”

He turned toward the porch door to see Tails waving, one hand on the handle, the other cupped around his mouth. Sonic shot him a thumbs-up in reply. The little fox smiled, then vanished inside.

Sonic sighed again and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. That was right - Tails had a point, even if he hadn’t meant to make one. Thinking too much was dangerous. Boredom was just the fuel ugly thoughts needed to start a fire.

He shook his head, flicking the taste of melancholy off his tongue like a bad flavor. “Whatever,” he muttered. “If I keep pretending everything’s fine, maybe it’ll become fine.”

He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp against the quiet air, and sat up straighter. If he could convince himself, maybe he could convince Knuckles too. That would get the echidna off his back. Hopefully.

Hope. Funny word. He’d made a joke about it not long ago, hadn’t he? He pressed that thought back down before it dug too deep.

Still, no matter how many times he told himself to focus on something - anything - nothing held. The world felt like it was moving in slow motion while he buzzed like static inside it. His leg started bouncing restlessly, heel tapping the ground in a staccato rhythm.

He could almost feel his body aching to move, to run. To tear through the woods and burn off the energy coiling under his skin. The fence loomed ahead, cutting him off from the freedom just beyond it - and for one reckless second, he imagined vaulting it. The idea alone made his pulse quicken.

He glanced up. The sun sat high and golden, barely past its peak. The day was half gone, and he’d done absolutely nothing.

“Great,” he muttered, drumming his fingers on the chair arm. “Just great.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each beat of his fingers on the wood marked another wasted second.

He started tapping in rhythm, humming under his breath until the beat turned into a melody. A song from memory - drums pounding, guitar strings screaming - filled the silence in his mind. His head bobbed in time, a ghost of a grin curling on his face. For a moment, it worked.

Then the song looped. And looped again.

The chorus snagged like a skipping record, and irritation pricked his nerves until his jaw clenched.

“Ugh, forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head and forcing the static out of his thoughts.

He reached up, fingers slipping through the thick fan of quills at the back of his head. Maybe he could at least do something with them. His gloved fingers twisted and prodded, trying to braid them together - but his reach was limited, and his arms quickly began to ache. The blood drained from his shoulders until his fingertips tingled. He grimaced, shaking them out with a hiss.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” he said aloud.

The quills swung loose again, falling back into place with a soft swish.

Sonic scanned the porch for another distraction. His eyes landed on a dog-eared book lying beside the chair. “Huh,” he muttered, reaching for it. He’d completely forgotten about that thing. The page marker was gone, not that it mattered - he could barely remember what he’d read anyway.

He flipped it open and dropped it on his lap, eyes scanning lines of print that blurred together. For a moment, it worked. His shoulders relaxed, the quiet rhythm of reading pulling him along. The gentle sway of the spring air brushed against his quills, rocking him almost like the hum of a distant sea.

Then the wind picked up.

The pages fluttered violently, slapping against one another as if mocking his attempt at peace. He growled low in his throat, slamming it shut, and tossed the paperback across the patchy lawn. It landed with a dull thud in the grass.

“Inside it is, I guess,” he muttered. A hot puff of frustration slipped out his nose as he stood, stretching his legs. He gave a few light kicks to shake off the restlessness, then turned toward the house.

But before stepping forward, he caught sight of the forest beyond the fence - leaves shimmering like emeralds in the sunlight, swaying gently in the wind. The way they moved made something in him twitch - the wild part of him that hated walls, gates, and rules.

Sonic watched the bird flap its wings and take off at the same moment he decided to retreat inside. The air felt stale with boredom, so he pushed himself up and darted toward the back door. Up the stairs, through the hall, and into his room - passing his sleeping echidna roommate along the way.

He paused mid-step. Knuckles was out cold on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted back, soft snores rumbling like distant thunder. The sight tugged something mischievous out of Sonic’s chest - a grin curling at the corners of his muzzle. Oh, this was too perfect.

“Well, big guy,” he muttered under his breath, stretching his arms with a crack of his knuckles, “you asked for it.”

In a flash, Sonic zipped into his room, his smirk widening as his eyes fell on his bedside drawer. He yanked it open and rummaged through the jumble of old junk - half-forgotten souvenirs from adventures and random bits of clutter. “C’mon, c’mon, where’s the good stuff…”

His hands darted like lightning. A paper plate. A can of whipped cream. A yoyo missing its string. Fishing line. Rubber bands. Scissors. Perfect. He tossed the keepers onto his bed and shoved the rest back into the drawer, cleaning up his mess before the “crime” even began.

Sonic crouched low by his door, pranking instincts firing on all cylinders. He looped the fishing line through the yoyo, anchored it above the doorway ledge, and taped it against the wallpaper - invisible to anyone walking in. Then came the pièce de résistance: a paper plate piled high with whipped cream. He balanced it just right, the makeshift trap ready for its unsuspecting victim.

“Beautiful,” Sonic whispered proudly, admiring his handiwork. The setup was flawless - Knuckles wouldn’t know what hit him.

Trap complete, Sonic dusted off his gloves and flopped backward onto his bed. His sneakers bumped the headboard as he stared at the ceiling, the thrill of anticipation buzzing under his skin. But soon, his eyes wandered toward the empty lower bunk. No Tails.

The silence of the house felt heavier without the usual clinks, hums, and zaps of the fox’s gadgets. Normally, Tails would be kneeling in the middle of the room, surrounded by a sprawl of wires and circuit boards, babbling about energy output ratios or flight stabilization like it was second nature.

Then Sonic remembered - the garage. Of course.

A fond smile crept across his face. His little brother was probably out front, buried in some half-built invention, fur smudged with grease, eyes bright with focus. The kid was unstoppable. It made Sonic’s chest feel light, almost proud.

Tails was a genius - not just smart, but heart-smart. Every crazy gizmo he built, every experiment he ran, came from the same place: curiosity and care. The two of them couldn’t be more different, but Sonic wouldn’t trade that for anything.

He thought of all the times Tails had stayed up past midnight, insisting, “Just a few more tweaks, Sonic! I promise, this’ll work!” And Tom, half-asleep in the doorway, sighing as the little fox flashed those big pleading eyes that no one on Earth - or Mobius - could ever resist.

Yeah, Sonic mused, leaning his head back with a chuckle. Those eyes had power.

He’d always admired that spark in his brother - the way Tails could find joy in things most people wouldn’t even understand. But it hadn’t always been that way.

There was a time when the fox hadn’t smiled much at all. When he’d confessed, voice trembling under the covers, that back on his old world, people didn’t look at him with kindness - they stared, whispered, laughed. His twin tails made him different. And different scared people.

Sonic’s smile faded a little. He still remembered the first night Tails cried about it. The helplessness he’d felt. The anger that someone so good, so kind, had been made to feel like less.

He’d told the kid then - and meant it - “You’re not weird. You’re brilliant. You’re my little bro, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And he’d meant every word since. Without Tails, they’d have been toast long ago. No plane, no gadgets, no backup plan - no chance. The fox was the brain to his speed, the heart to his chaos.

Sonic’s gaze drifted to the folded map tucked beneath his pillow. He slid it free, smoothing the dirt-stained paper with a gentle hand. Longclaw’s handwriting still ran across it in firm, sweeping strokes. He couldn’t read half of it, but he didn’t need to. Just tracing those letters brought her voice back — soft, wise, always patient with the little hedgehog she’d called “my nestling.”

He turned the map over and found the feather he’d kept hidden there. Old and bronzed, like sunlight caught in its fibers. He twirled it carefully between his gloved fingers.

He missed her. Missed the warmth of her wings and the way her laughter filled their tiny home on Mobius. But Earth was his home now. And maybe, in some way, she’d led him here - to a family that looked nothing like the one he lost, but felt just as real.

Sonic’s eyes flicked toward the floorboards under the bunk bed, where a faint, muted glow would normally seep through the cracks. The Master Emerald, wrapped tight in blankets to hide its light. Still, even dormant, its energy pulsed softly in the air - a heartbeat of chaos.

He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Full circle, huh?”

It was crazy, thinking how far they’d all come. From strangers, to rivals, to teammates - to family. He still remembered the first time he’d met Knuckles: hotheaded, stubborn, ready to throw down at the drop of a chili dog. And him? He’d been just as bad. Reckless, cocky, angry. Both of them fueled by pride and half-truths.

But somewhere between punches and chaos energy, they’d found common ground. Now, Knuckles was the big brother he never knew he needed - annoying sometimes, sure, but solid. Dependable. Real.

A familiar rumble snapped him back to the present - the sound of an engine pulling up outside. Tires crunched on gravel, followed by the slam of a car door and a muffled cough that could only belong to one person.

“Tom’s home,” Sonic murmured.

He grinned, pushing himself off the bed and glancing once at his hidden trap with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Showtime.”

In one smooth move, he vaulted over the fishing line, grabbed the banister, and launched himself onto the rail. His sneakers slid like skates down the smooth wood as he zipped toward the bottom floor - fur rippling, eyes bright with that familiar rush.

He landed on the last step just as the front door clicked open, spinning once on his heel before striking a pose, grin wide and uncontainable.

“Welcome home, Donut Lord,” he called out.

“Finally, home, sweet home! Oh - hi, Sonic!” Tomi’s smile was wide, bright enough to light the room as he stepped inside, a heavy duffle bag slung over one shoulder that he hadn’t been carrying that morning.

“Have you guys eaten yet? I’m starving!” he moaned, kicking off his boots without bothering to untie them, nudging them neatly into place with casual precision. Sonic’s nose twitched at the faint scent of polish and leather. He knew all too well how Maddie insisted on the strict order of shoes at the door, especially now, with so many pairs lining the mat.

“Long time no see,” Sonic replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And no! How about a Sonic special for dinner?” He arched a brow suggestively, and Tom groaned, throwing his head back as if the ceiling could absorb his frustration.

“We’ve had chili dogs twice this week already,” Tom muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he carefully set the duffle bag beside the shoes. “And it’s Wednesday, Sonic.”

“Hey! If I could have it my way, it’d be chili dogs every day! Be grateful I’m as lenient as I am,” Sonic shot back, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest. His nose twitched, sniffing around as if it could detect the contents of the bag before he even dared to open it.

“Of course, my prince, your majesty, the high and righteous Sonic,” Tom quipped, pointing at the bag as he walked past, ruffling Sonic’s blue quills with a casual hand. Sonic’s heart skipped a beat - such rare affection, and he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, to keep the happiness contained.

“Wade’s moving and had to clear some stuff out of his place. He thinks there might be a few things you guys would like. But don’t touch anything until you’re all together. No hogging anything, either!” Tom called from down the hall. Sonic’s paws itched; he instinctively reached for the zipper but jerked back, flustered, cursing Tom in his head for anticipating exactly what he’d do. Picking up the duffle bag, he realized it was heavier than expected - almost toppling under the sudden weight.

“Yikes… what’s even in here? It’s so heavy!” Sonic groaned, struggling to keep his balance.

“Just leave it there - Knuckles can take it upstairs!” Tom replied. Sonic obeyed, lowering it carefully with trembling arms before shooting into the kitchen, planting himself on one of the stools tucked neatly under the counter.

“No running in the house,” Tom quietly scolded, not looking up from the stove where a pan of oil hissed over the hob.

Sonic snorted under his breath. Running in the house was banned, yes - as was chaos - but the restriction of space felt unnatural. Years of living in the caves, and even two years with the Wackoskis, hadn’t dulled that instinct. He had the power, so why not use it? Though, he’d learned not to voice such thoughts after knocking over the third vase the month he’d moved in.

Glancing at Tom, Sonic noticed he hadn’t yet changed out of his work uniform, confirming the mobian’s hunger. The gurgle of Tom’s stomach and the bashful glance he threw Sonic prompted a quiet laugh between them. The house settled into a comforting silence, the clatter of kitchen tools blending with the warm hum of familial presence. Sonic felt the rare luxury of just being, his boredom softened by the simple reassurance of home.

“Welcome home, Father!” Knuckles’ deep voice rumbled as he slipped into the seat beside Sonic, the weight of his presence almost tangible.

Sonic’s green eyes darted between the counter and the two figures in front of him, Tom bustling with pots and pans, Knuckles perched rigidly in his chair like a statue of granite muscle. The air smelled of sizzling oil and warm bread, a comfort that somehow clashed with the itch under his quills - that restless pulse that always came when he’d been still too long.

“Hi to you too, Knuckles. Hungry? I’m whipping up something quick,” Tom replied, a spatula in hand. He nodded toward the garage. “Could one of you grab Tails for me? He’s probably out front, as usual.”

“Sure, I’ll grab him,” Sonic said, nodding toward the garage before his brother could protest. He spun on his heel, leaving the faint shimmer of blue light hovering behind him. The words “No running in the house!” floated after him like a taunt, and he grinned, quills twitching. Of course, Sonic knew the rules - but when curiosity gnawed at him, rules were little more than suggestions.

Outside, the shed loomed like a cathedral of invention. Inside, Tails was a blur of yellow and white, hunched over a jumble of metal and tools, the faint hum of an electric torch cutting arcs across the shadows. Sonic froze mid-step, taking in the sight: two tails flicking nervously, ears flattened as he focused, nimble fingers coaxing delicate pieces into alignment.

Tails sat at the desk, face hidden behind a flat metal plate. The fox hadn’t noticed him yet. “Tails!” Sonic shouted over the roar of heat and metal, but the sound was swallowed by the workshop.

“Taiiiilllssss!” Sonic tried again, slowing his approach as he watched his brother’s focused movements.

“Tails!” Sonic shouted, finally slapping a palm against his brother’s shoulder. Tails jumped, tails splaying like a startled fox, eyes wide behind soot-streaked goggles. The torch sputtered out as his hand flew up instinctively, extinguishing the flame. 

“Sonic! You scared the daylights out of me!” Tails slumped back, one hand pressed to his chest, the other lifting the mask from his soot-streaked face.

Sonic couldn’t help it - he laughed, heart racing, ignoring the sharp inhale of breath from Tails. “Damn, I could say the same! I thought my eyes fell to my - uh - my shoes just then!”

Tails jabbed a screwdriver at him with a glare, and Sonic flinched. “Youch! I called for you but you didn’t hear,” he rubbed the spot.

And as his little brother murmured in frightened anger, as he peeled his glove off to reveal clean, pale hands beneath - “What’re you working on, Tails?”

Sonic asked, shifting his weight and leaning over Tails’ shoulder, squinting at the half-assembled device on the desk. It looked like… a box? But the intricate circuitry, gleaming metal joints, and faint hum of energy radiating from it suggested far more than a simple container.

“Oh!” Tails’ ears perked up at the mention of his work, the faint glare of concentration giving way to a spark of excitement as he spun in his chair and sprang to his feet. “This is a prototype of a chao capsule I’m creating.” He pushed the chair aside with a practiced shove and grabbed Sonic’s wrist, tugging him closer to the workbench.

“The Master Emerald isn’t exactly safe in a simple wooden box,” Tails began, his voice brisk but tinged with pride. “Its energy signature is exceptionally strong - detectable by anyone with advanced chaos-sensing technology. Even small fluctuations in its chaotic field could give its location away. So this,” he said, gesturing to the angular metal frame with panels of polished alloy and reinforced plexiglass, “is designed to both mask and stabilize its energy.”

He rotated the box for Sonic, bottom and side panels clicking into place with a precise, mechanical hum. “I’ve embedded a lattice of micro-conduits,” he continued, pointing at a faintly glowing grid etched into the frame, “which channels the emerald’s chaotic energy through a controlled feedback loop. Essentially, the box absorbs and redistributes the field, preventing any external sensors from locking onto it. The chao inside act as adaptive stabilizers, responding in real time to fluctuations in the energy matrix.”

Sonic’s eyes widened as Tails’ hands moved rapidly, tracing wires and connectors. “And only we can take it apart or reassemble it,” the fox added, pumping a fist. “Eggman - or anyone else - wouldn’t be able to interact with it without our unique chaotic signature. Every Mobian, down to the individual, emits a unique energy code. The box synchronizes only with ours.”

“Eggmans dead, though?” Sonic said. "And when the hell did you sneak the Master emerald out here?" 

“Well, you can never be too careful - And I did it quietly” Tails giggled. 

He paused, catching his breath, then added, “Tom and Maddie won’t be able to access it either… though I might consult Knuckles. He’s the main guardian, after all. Maybe a failsafe in case of emergencies…” His eyes flicked back to the glowing device as he spoke, voice low with awe at his own creation.

Sonic leaned closer, drawn in by both the technical brilliance and Tails’ uncontainable enthusiasm. The fox’s fingers moved like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, adjusting tiny conduits, rotating micro-gears, and aligning reflective panels to redirect faint pulses of energy. Sonic could see the faint shimmer of the Master Emerald, now absent from its floorboard hiding place in the bedroom, its chaotic aura faintly detectable as it hummed through the box.

“And so that’s the theory I’m working with,” Tails said, stepping back to inspect his work, “though it’s not complete. I’ve assembled a temporary prototype to test the core systems. Once I can analyze the feedback loops and adjust the resonance dampeners, it’ll be fully operational. The chest in the bedroom worked fine, but this will be infinitely more secure.” He shrugged, gaze dropping slightly as a flicker of self-doubt crossed his features.

Sonic grinned, nudging him gently. “Of course, no pressure. Don’t even think about locking yourself up in this shed until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He ruffled the tips of Tails’ ears, and the fox leaned into the touch, tilting his head just enough to offer Sonic access. Sonic scratched gently, relishing the rare closeness between them.

A warm sense of pride filled Sonic’s chest as he watched his brother. The fox’s sharp mind, his dexterity, and now his ingenuity in chaos manipulation - it was staggering. Sonic let his hand drift to the tip of Tails’ ear as he scratched there too, feeling the fox relax under the attention.

“So… what do you think? I - I mean about the -” Tails’ voice faltered, his uncertainty creeping back into his wide, glassy eyes. He shifted nervously, toes scuffing the floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Sonic exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s amazing! I’d never have come up with something like this. I can’t wait to see the finished product. But seriously, no rush, okay?” He threw an arm over the fox’s shoulder and gave a casual thumbs-up. Tails’ ears twitched, a soft blush spreading across his muzzle as a satisfied hum escaped his throat. Sonic chuckled, scratching gently under his chin as the fox leaned into the gesture.

Sonic finally pulled back, laughing. “Now, I hate to be that guy, but -” He pinched his nose. “You stink. Go wash up quickly. Tom only sent me out to fetch you for dinner - it’s probably done a long time ago.” He flapped his hands, urging Tails toward the door.

“But I haven’t tidied up yet -” Tails protested.

Sonic squeezed his shoulder with a playful nudge, sending the fox stumbling lightly toward the exit. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it for you. Quick, run, rabbit, run!” Sonic laughed at Tails’ wide-eyed, flustered expression as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving Sonic alone amidst the faint hum of the prototype and the lingering aura of the Master Emerald.

Casting his gaze over the workbench and scattered tools, Sonic exhaled slowly. The shed looked as if an avalanche of scraps had been hurled through it - panes of glass, coils of wire, scraps of metal, and blueprints strewn like debris after a tempest. Still, Sonic had a task, and he set to it with methodical precision. The faster he cleared the chaos, the sooner he could eat.

First, he approached the desk, scanning the margins of Tails’ blueprints and notes. Titles, annotations, equations scrawled in meticulous handwriting - all piled carefully. Sonic stacked them together, secured them with a paperclip, and dropped the bundle into the top drawer of the desk, knowing Tails would find it easily. Next, he swept up the tiny fragments the fox had cut from large panes, depositing them into the recycling bin. Even the smallest shards he brushed into a pile with a dustpan, leaving nothing behind.

Tools came next, slotted into the foam insert of the toolbox with satisfying clicks, each piece returning to its assigned place like pieces of a puzzle. Sonic clasped the lid, hefted the box by its handle, and carried it across the room to its usual resting place. A cloud of dust clung to his hand, shaken off with a quick clap. He paused, taking in the neat arrangement, the sense of order restored. Carefully, naturally, he worked - mind alert, movements deliberate.

His brother’s gratitude, Sonic knew, would be fierce if he messed up here. This shed wasn’t just a workspace; it was Tails’ sanctuary, his escape from the world, and Sonic treated it as sacred.

And then it happened.

A pulse, subtle yet undeniable, rippled through the air. Sonic froze mid-step, quills standing on end. A wave of warmth brushed against him, like a whispering hand tracing his spine. He set down the packet of pliers on the cork tabletop, muscles taut, senses straining. Something - or someone - was here. Eyes unseen, yet he felt them piercing into him, threading into his very nerves.

A tremor of unease wound through him. His ears twitched. His stomach tightened. Then, unmistakably, he felt it - the emerald.

The Master Emerald.

It called to him. Not in words, but in pulse and pressure, a thrumming vibration that synchronized with his heartbeat. Sonic’s emerald eyes locked onto the subtle gleam of green through the faint cracks of the box. And like a trap snapping shut, his mind went silent. Curtains fell over all other thoughts. He was entirely consumed, entirely drawn in.

Invisible hands seemed to guide his steps. His feet moved before his mind could protest, carrying him closer. The box glimmered with a pale jade light that shimmered across the walls, spilling green reflections over Sonic’s waist. It was mesmerizing, intoxicating - the warmth, the quiet protection of it, the whispered promise of power. It wrapped around him like a cord, binding, coaxing, tempting.

His gloved fingers brushed the metal plating along the box’s surface. Rusting bolts clicked under his touch, yet he barely noticed. His pupils dilated as he traced the outline of the chest, mesmerized by the jewel contained within. A pang of awe, a rush of greed - he wondered if anyone had warned him of this Pandora’s box, whether he should resist, whether indulgence might be catastrophic.

The quiet was absolute. Even his own thoughts seemed distant, hushed beneath the emerald’s presence. Sonic reveled in the sensation, drawn to it, desperate for it. His fingers found the latch, twisted it, and let it drop with a soft plink. The box opened.

The emerald shone brighter than he had ever seen, bathing him in light. Between his gloved palms, the jewel rested, heavy with unspent energy, trembling like a living heart. It pulsed with freedom, rolling and twisting in golden-green tornadoes of chaotic power. Sonic could feel it in his chest, in his veins, in the tips of his quills. It was an all-consuming presence.

The green glow thickened, expanding outward, forming a barrier, a cage, a voice. His lungs constricted under the pressure. Every breath was laborious, yet he refused to release the gem. It was his. Mine, mine, mine - his mind chanted.

Strength seeped from his muscles, pouring through the tiny pores of his skin. Each pulse of the stone drained him, yet exhilarated him. He stumbled against the corner of the workbench, knees buckling, yet he barely felt the impact. Intoxicated, he pressed the emerald closer, tasting the syrupy, overwhelming power coursing into him.

Chaos within the stone stirred. It throbbed, whispered, demanded, promising ecstasy and dominion. Sonic held it tighter, entranced. He followed the pull, yielding to it, letting the energy surge through him.

And then - the stone cracked. Slowly, painfully, lines spreading across its flawless surface, chaos spilling outward in uncontrolled bursts. Sonic absorbed it, drinking in the core, and reality shattered around him.

Pain and ecstasy mingled in blinding waves. Screeching in his ears, the emerald’s voice a thunderclap inside his mind, his body felt as if it were tearing itself apart. Shoes glued to the floor, jaw clenched, mind deafened by the torrent of incomprehensible voices, he realized the truth: the emerald’s gift was a trap. It seduced, it offered, and then it devoured.

He was consumed. Entirely. Pain became him, agony filled every fiber of his being. He clutched the gem as if it were his heart, holding tight against the onslaught.

A crash in the garage jolted him - a chaotic punctuation in the storm. Bangs, thuds, a scream of his name.

A force slammed into his back. The emerald’s light sputtered, the brilliance behind his eyes dimmed.

Sonic went looking for trouble, and it found him. 

Chapter Text

Sonic ran through a field of dying grass, the remnants of a fire still smoldering beneath his feet. Charred and cracked, the blackened blades crunched under his shoes, sending up small clouds of soot that clung to his quills. The smoke stung his nostrils, thick and acrid, and he swallowed hard as it burned his throat.

Above him, the sky was a churning canvas of graphite clouds, roiling with menace. Thunder growled in the distance, though no lightning split the darkness. The wind, almost absent, barely rustled the withered stalks of grass, yet its touch pressed against his shoulders like an unseen hand, heavy and deliberate. Sonic followed a narrow path flattened by countless footsteps, each crunch of his shoes echoing strangely in the eerie stillness.

In the distance, a lone tree stood, its gnarled branches drooping over the emptiness like an umbrella shielding nothing. Its bark was cracked and brown, its leaves long dead. Sonic stopped, breath hitching slightly.

At its base, a shadow writhed. An oval, blurred and quivering, almost imperceptible at first. Instinctively, Sonic’s legs coiled, and he surged forward, quills bristling.

Void surrounded him, not the comforting darkness of night, but the absence of life itself. Only the faint, ghostly whispers of a fire long gone lingered in the air. Soot floated lazily in tiny clusters, settling on his fur. The silence was absolute, unnatural. Sonic’s chest heaved as he exhaled sharply; the sound seemed deafening, an intrusion into the impossible quiet. Yet the closer he drew, the more his thoughts of caution slipped away.

He circled the tree, nose twitching as the scent of iron grew stronger, sharp and metallic in the cold, still air. Each step was like the beat of a drum inside his chest, echoing finality. He brushed his gloves over the flaking bark, feeling the jagged edges bite lightly at his skin.

And there it was.

Not a shadow. Not a ball. A body. Kneeling, curled in on itself, quills streaked with red. A hedgehog. A stranger. Sonic gasped, the sticks beneath his feet snapping sharply. The mobian flinched, small and tense, quills rising like rigid needles, back turned to him. Every instinct screamed caution, but the urge to help was stronger.

Sonic hovered, hands twitching to reach out, to comfort, but something held him back. The hedgehog’s spines were raised, a living barrier. He couldn’t see a face, couldn’t see the expression beneath the shadow of those crimson streaks. Even the tension radiating off him was thick, dangerous, something to be respected.

He cleared his throat softly. “A-are you okay? Do you need help?” His voice was gentle, almost tender - the same tone he reserved for Tails when the fox was frightened. Silence answered him.

“What’s your name?” Sonic tried again, worry threading through the words. Still nothing.

His chest tightened as he crouched a little lower, studying the tense, trembling figure. Blood trickled down the stranger’s back, dark and sticky, marking the scorched grass. The wound wasn’t self-inflicted; Sonic knew that immediately. He swallowed, trying to calculate a plan.

Then the air shifted. The silence shattered. Sonic barely had time to react before a sudden, violent force yanked him forward. His yelp was lost in the gust as he collided with the tree, breath knocked out of him. His head slammed against the rough bark, splinters biting into his fur, sending shockwaves through his skull.

Instinctively, Sonic scrambled, fingers digging into the tree to steady himself. Pain flashed through his chest and shoulders, but adrenaline cut sharper. He blinked rapidly, vision swimming, until a hand - firm, controlled - grabbed his chin and forced his gaze upward.

Emerald met burgundy.

Those eyes - glinting, cruel, and almost impossibly sharp - burned into him, sending a shiver down his spine. Rust-colored flecks glimmered within the pupils, small sparks of chaos and malice. Sonic’s breath caught. Recognition sparked, instinctively, a name he hadn’t yet spoken or known: Shadow.

And then they were gone.

The cruel, burning gaze vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Sonic’s chest pounding, quills prickling, and a silence more oppressive than before. The field, the charred grass, the dead tree - all of it seemed suspended in anticipation. Sonic’s instincts screamed: trouble had found him.

Sonic woke with a jolt, his leg aching from the kick that had thrown him fully into the day. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, every inhale sharp and jagged. His head pounded like a drumline, each pulse hammering at his temples. Blinking rapidly, he became aware of the tight white wraps around his hands - fingers stiff and nearly useless. He tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey, heavy and sore, like it had been compressed into the mattress all night.

What …?

Voices drifted up from downstairs, sharp and heated. Knuckles’ deep, commanding tone cut through the air, tense and rough. Another voice - higher, calmer, but threaded with worry - answered.

Sonic groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. Too loud. Too much. He rolled onto his side, sheets damp with sweat, legs tangled in a twisted mess.

Slowly, painfully, he freed himself and swung his feet to the floor when the voices didn’t stop. Muscles ached everywhere, every movement a reminder that his body wasn’t fully awake yet. When - Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

Sonic froze as the pace quickened, each stomp echoing through the house. Then the bedroom door slammed open.

Knuckles stepped in first, quills bristling like red fire. His presence filled the room - angry, urgent, protective. Sonic flinched instinctively, pressing back against the wall. Behind him, a smaller, frantic blur appeared -Tails.

The little fox wasted no time. He leapt into Sonic’s lap, wrapping around him tightly, tails coiling like springs around Sonic’s waist. “Oh, Sonic…” Tails whispered, voice trembling. “Thank chaos you’re okay.”

Sonic’s chest warmed despite the pounding headache. He wrapped an arm around Tails, patting his quills gently. “Hey… it’s okay. I’m fine.” His voice was softer than usual, meant to comfort both himself and the little fox clinging to him. Tails pressed closer, shivering slightly, refusing to let go.

Knuckles’ scowl cut through the moment like a blade. The room’s tension twisted, heavy and suffocating. Sonic felt the weight of it, and instinctively held Tails closer.

The fox’s small hands curled into Sonic’s quills, and he realized: something had happened. Something serious. Fear and worry radiated off Tails in waves, mirrored by Knuckles’ rigid posture. Sonic’s heart ached. He wasn’t just hurt or tired - he was needed. Needed by them, needed to be there for Tails, to somehow calm the storm between his brothers.

“Just sleeping, huh?” Knuckles said, low and sharp.

“Yeah,” Sonic said, trying to sound casual though his chest tightened, “I… had a weird dream. Nothing to worry about.” He offered a small, shaky smile to Tails.

Tails looked up at him, eyes wide and wet, trusting him entirely in a way that made Sonic feel both fragile and strong at the same time. He gently stroked the fox’s head, smoothing the fur, and realized he had been desperate for this - this closeness, this reassurance.

Knuckles’ scowl softened slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained. He glanced between the two of them, his protective instinct still on full alert. Sonic didn’t need words to understand it. They were all on edge, all carrying weight in different ways.

When his muscles tensed instinctively as Tails spun around, eyes sharp and shadowed with a grim glare.

Before Sonic could react, the fox’s small, precise claws dug into his back - not viciously, but enough to make him freeze. Maddie’s monthly pedicure had left them neat, blunt, but still capable of a pinch. Sonic flinched, startled, but quickly recognized there was no malice in Tails’ grip. What unsettled him was the silent tension brewing between his brothers. Even the tiniest flicker of anger from Tails felt like a warning.

Something had definitely happened. Something was off.

“Knuckles,” Tails hissed, voice low, carrying a weight Sonic hadn’t heard before. “Not. Now.” His words snapped, cold as steel, and Sonic felt his fur bristle at the authority in them. Tails’ sapphire eyes glinted as he squared himself against the red echidna.

Knuckles’ towering frame froze, jaw tight, eyes widening in surprise. For a brief moment, Sonic saw the older brother falter, collecting himself - but the tension didn’t leave. Knuckles’ usual dominance lingered, simmering under the surface like molten rock.

“Then when, brother? He’s awake! He’s fine!” Knuckles flung his arm out, frustration radiating with each motion. “I cannot put this off any longer!”

“He didn’t mean it, Knuckles, you know that,” Tails shot back, stepping protectively in front of Sonic. His tiny frame was unyielding, every line of his body coiled like a spring. “There’s nothing to be said, not right now.” His voice was firm, edged with the authority of someone protecting what mattered most.

“The intent doesn’t change the outcome,” Knuckles growled, voice low but sharp, like a blade scraping stone. Tails stiffened, arching his back, nostrils flaring in that feline-like tension Sonic had come to recognize.

“Uh…guys?” Sonic’s voice wavered as he tried to peek past Tails, curious but cautious. His fingers twitched as he shifted on the bed, still too weak to rise. “Can someone explain - what are you talking about?”

But Tails blocked him entirely, keeping Knuckles’ stormy expression out of view. Sonic’s confusion deepened. The words they tossed between them were precise but cryptic, layered with concern, frustration, and something he couldn’t name.

“I am an echidna warrior,” Knuckles said, voice rising slightly but controlled. His eyes were unreadable, expression carved from stone. “My life, my existence, my purpose - it is to protect the Master Emerald. From birth to death, I defend it. This…this is bigger than any of us. The universe itself depends on it, and there are those out there who would come for it right now!”

Sonic knew all of this. He’d grown up hearing it, understood the weight of the emerald, the legacy Knuckles bore. It was sacred, terrifying, and yet a symbol of balance. It had cost them lives, including Longclaw’s. But what did it have to do with him? Why now?

He glanced at Tails, scanning the back of his brother’s ears, searching for answers. But Tails was silent, eyes flicking between him and Knuckles, standing firm like a shield. Sonic’s questions crowded his mind, unspoken, urgent - but caught between his siblings’ argument, he could do nothing.

“I know, but - ” Tails’ voice softened slightly, though the stubborn edge remained. He was trying to reason with a force of nature.

“Tails, step aside. I need to check on Sonic,” Knuckles groaned, tension rolling off him in waves, shoulders slumping, a rare exhale of frustration.

“Let him rest. He can’t even stand yet,” Tails argued, voice rising, eyes narrowing. “I’ve told you - more than once - he needs rest!”

“I need to check for it,” Knuckles snapped, fists pounding lightly on his hips. His chest heaved, lips tight, a storm barely contained. “I will not delay!”

“And you can when he’s recovered,” Tails countered, firm, unyielding.

“Tails, I insist. It’s necessary,” Knuckles pressed, stepping forward.

Sonic attempted to rise, but his knees buckled, forcing him back on the mattress. Tails stayed with him, eyes scanning his form, a tiny smile offering reassurance. He was fine, Tails seemed to say - stay calm. But Knuckles’ shadowed presence drew closer again, a tension he could feel pressing down on him.

“I just need a glance,” Knuckles said, voice clipped.

“No,” Tails replied immediately, voice steady, unwavering.

“Please, brother,” Knuckles pleaded, taking another step.

“No. He’s not fit. Not right now,” Tails said, tone sharp. Sonic flinched as Knuckles’ palm struck the stripe of white across his chest - not harshly, but enough to provoke.

Knuckles’ restraint snapped. “It is my duty - !” he barked, teeth gritted, eyes burning amethyst fire.

“And it is your duty as the older brother to ensure Sonic is safe before your duty to a crystal!” Tails shot back, launching himself from Sonic’s lap to block Knuckles’ advance. His small frame was fierce, determined, unrelenting.

“An inanimate object that has stolen years from you, Knuckles!” Tails yelled, voice raw, trembling with emotion. “And you forget Sonic is right here!”

Sonic’s quills bristled, heart hammering. He watched, awestruck, as Tails jabbed a finger inches from Knuckles’ face, pleading, commanding, standing between them with the courage of someone twice his size.

“It is your duty as our brother to make sure he’s okay,” Tails concluded, voice dropping to a measured calm, though every word carried weight.

Knuckles exhaled sharply, jaw tight, eyes refusing to meet Sonic’s. “What are you suggesting…?”

“That you’re being a bad, big brother,” Tails shot back. Silence fell heavy, pressing in on the room. Knuckles drew a breath, caught, the words hanging between them.

Sonic’s mouth hung open, unprepared for the honesty, the confrontation. How badly had he messed up?

“This isn’t about that,” Knuckles finally said, voice quieter, but still rigid.

“Your priorities are misaligned,” Tails countered, unwavering.

“I’m doing this to protect him!” Knuckles snapped, gesturing sharply at Sonic.

“Are you really?” Tails challenged, eyes blazing sapphire, forcing a tense quiet over the room. Both older siblings froze, breath rapid, locked in a standoff over him.

“Don’t undermine me, Tails.” Knuckles’ voice was low, tense, threaded with something more than anger - betrayal, frustration, and a sorrow he couldn’t hide. His massive fists clenched at his sides, quills bristling in uncharacteristic tightness.

“I… I’m sorry,” Tails admitted softly, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t want to have to say it.”

“I care about Sonic,” Knuckles continued, voice rough but earnest.

“Of course you do.”

“I do,” Knuckles pressed, tone raw, almost convincing himself as much as Tails. Sonic could feel it - the desperate weight of someone trying to reconcile duty and emotion, trying to convince the room, trying to convince himself.

Sonic’s chest tightened. Their words weren’t for him, but they pressed down on him all the same. He felt invisible in the middle of the storm, left to catch fragments of the argument like stray debris. A familiar voice whispered in his mind - I told you so. But more than that, he had no answers, no context, nothing. Who was right? Who was wrong? He couldn’t tell.

“I never said you didn’t,” Tails grunted, slapping his thigh, trying to anchor himself amidst the tension.

“But the emerald - ” Knuckles’ voice cracked with urgency.

“Can wait!” Tails snapped, throwing his arms up, frustration brimming.

“It can’t!” Knuckles barked, shoving his fists into his eyes, rubbing at the tension and the helplessness that had been building for hours.

“Guys - ” Sonic croaked, trying to interrupt, to mediate, though he had no idea what had ignited the fire. His voice barely carried over the mounting storm. He just had to stop it. Stop it before it breaks them.

“It’ll hurt him,” Tails whispered, lips trembling, hands reaching toward Knuckles, desperate to stop him. Not for himself - not for the emerald—but for Sonic. Knuckles’ anger, twisted by duty and obsession, was a danger Sonic couldn’t yet confront.

“Only for a moment. Not a second longer.” Knuckles’ hands closed over Tails’, firm, unyielding.

“N-no! You’re lying!” Tails stammered, struggling to pull free, but Knuckles’ grip was iron.

“Have I ever lied to you?” Knuckles’ tone softened, almost pleading. “Do you not trust me?”

“I do, I really do… but, Knuckles… you’re wound up. Sonic’s sick, and - Chaos,” Tails sobbed, voice cracking, his small body trembling. Sonic’s heart ached. How could he not move? His arms refused to lift; his body betrayed him as helplessness coursed through him. He punched his own calf out of frustration.

“We’re not arguing,” Knuckles insisted, though his voice betrayed the tension coiled in every muscle.

“But we are!” Tails yelled, tears streaking his cheeks. “I’ve been up for hours making sure he’s breathing and that the box is completed! To keep him safe!” His voice was jagged, raw with exhaustion and fear. “So forgive me if this inconveniences you, but I cannot handle this right now! Just - please - leave it!”

Sonic’s quills bristled. He tried to push himself upright, knees wobbling, but the argument swallowed him whole. His chest tightened. His ears rang.

“You want me to dismiss this?” Knuckles’ voice carried scorn, sharp as a whip. Tails pulled back, sobbing, hands wiping fiercely at his face.

“Chaos, no! Listen to me!” Tails gasped.

“Hey - ” Sonic barely registered the new voices as Tom and Maddie burst in, rushing toward them. Maddie in her white coat, Tom in his uniform, both wide-eyed, breathless, unsure. Sonic barely noticed. He was trapped in the center of the storm.

“I’m done listening, Fox,” Knuckles barked.

“Kids, we should - ” Tom tried, but his words were swallowed.

“Tails, out of the way before - ” Knuckles snapped.

“No, I won’t -”

“Tom - ” Maddie’s protest was sharp but faint against the chaos.

“Knuckles, why is - ” Tom began again, but it was too late.

The shouting escalated. Sonic cupped his ears, tears blurring his vision as he watched the battle unfold. He was the eye of the storm, the reason everything was happening, and it crushed him to the core. His body ached, muscles trembling. He punched his own side in frustration, but the pain barely registered.

“Stop it!” he screamed, quills sparking with static energy as he flinched under the weight of it all.

“Mother, you -”

“I don’t care!”

“Tails, come here.”

“No! He’ll just - he’ll - ”

“He’ll be fine, I promise.”

Chaos. The word barely covered the truth of what he felt. Sonic’s quills sizzled, energy crawling over his skin, surging from him like a living thing. His main shimmered brighter, reflecting the tension, the fear, the desperate need for silence. The house itself seemed to tremble beneath the power of his frustration.

Enough.

In a single, decisive motion, Knuckles caught Tails, the one closest to Sonic. His massive hands gripped firmly, yanking the fox back just as Sonic’s quills screamed and arcs of electricity danced around him. Sonic’s voice rang out, sharper and louder than anyone had expected:

“God damn it! Everybody, shut the hell up!”

The shockwave rattled the room. Papers flew. Maddie and Tom stumbled back. Quills sparking, Sonic struggled to contain the surge of energy, but it pulsed through him, unstoppable, raw, alive. His ears rang, his chest heaved, but for the first time, silence - absolute, piercing - descended, as though the world itself had paused to hear him.

“Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on? CHAOS!” His voice cracked, thunderous, leaving nothing unchallenged. The argument, the fear, the chaos - it all funneled through him. The room froze. Even Knuckles’ grip on Tails faltered, and Tails’ wide, frightened eyes met Sonic’s.

For a moment, everything hung in balance.

Sonic’s family, the people he loved, finally had to listen.

Chapter Text

What is noise? What is sound?

Sonic had learned the basics from Tails’ countless lectures. Even now, fragments came back to him like well-worn bookmarks in his memory. Sound was a disturbance of matter, a vibration traveling through air, or water, or solid, eventually striking the eardrum to be translated into perception. In simpler terms: an external stimulus. There was no such thing as absolute silence. Every atom buzzed, collided, and whispered in its own imperceptible rhythm. Even solids weren’t still. Everything moved. Everything vibrated.

There was no such thing as absolute silence. 

And yet, here, in this moment, the world seemed to have abandoned its rules. Sonic could feel the absence of sound pressing against him like an invisible wall. The patter of rain, the creak of the floor, the faint hiss of air through vents - everything had vanished. Time itself felt like it had been held hostage. He strained, listening desperately, but the usual orchestra of life had been replaced by a vacuum.

Sonic’s emerald eyes darted across the room, taking in his family. The tension was nearly tactile, thick enough to make his chest ache. Sparks of residual chaos energy shimmered along their fur and skin - small, harmless blue arcs left over from the accidental surge that had snapped free when Sonic’s frustration flared. He glanced at his bound paws. The white wrappings were scorched at the edges, coffee-brown where the energy had kissed them.

And still, there was silence.

His lips trembled as his anger cooled into guilt. The apology hovered on the tip of his tongue, bitter and unconvincing. He tried to push himself up, to reach out to the people who had always been his anchor, the pillars keeping the temple of his life from collapsing - but his body betrayed him. He slumped back, muscles heavy, quills tingling with residual energy. The words he wanted to say would stay trapped there.

Tails, ever attentive, moved first. His tiny hands steadied, his voice breaking the silence like a sudden spark in a dark cave. “It’s okay, Sonic. It was an accident.”

The sound was almost grotesquely loud in the oppressive hush, reverberating off the walls of Sonic’s mind. And then, as if puncturing a veil, the subtle squeak of Maddie’s movement reminded him that sound was not truly absent. The vacuum seemed to inhale it all back, leaving only a suffocating weight in its place - a presence more tangible than the noise itself, hanging over them like a canopy, pressing against their faces.

Sonic’s eyes found Maddie, pale and trembling slightly, hiding her hand against her hip. His own throat tightened. “I-it’s okay, little man. I’m fine, really,” she forced out, a strained smile glimmering on her lips as Tom helped her to a beanbag near the door.

“It’s not.” Knuckles cut through Maddie’s words, moving with the force of a storm. His body pivoted away from Tails, hands slipping from the fox’s shoulders as though physically detaching himself from distraction. 

“Nothing’s fine.” Each step reverberated with the faint remnants of Sonic’s chaos energy, lighting the floorboards beneath his boots like scattered bioluminescent sparks, driving him toward Sonic’s bed with relentless intensity.

“Knuckles, please…” Tails’ voice trembled, thin but unwavering. He tried to meet his brother’s glare, to anchor him with reason, but the weight of fear, exhaustion, and frantic concern pressed down too heavily. Sonic watched, helpless, as the energy of their emotions crackled in the air, nearly visible in the faint static dancing across the room. Tails’ careful words were swallowed by Knuckles’ storm of focus, ignored yet somehow feeding the tension that bound them all.

He stopped at Sonic’s bedside, eyes blazing amethyst, chest rising and falling in rhythm with the tension radiating off his body. Sonic could feel the weight of his brother’s frustration and fear pressing down on him. This was Knuckles at his most canonically furious: protective, duty-bound, and utterly unwilling to tolerate even the appearance of danger to his family.

Tails shifted closer to Sonic, small paws brushing his bound wrists, standing like a sentinel. His blue eyes, darkened with worry, darted to Knuckles. “Please… he’s hurt, Knuckles. Let him rest. You’re not helping by - ”

Knuckles’ jaw tightened, but his gaze softened fractionally when it flicked to the fox. Duty warred with instinct; Sonic’s own faint heartbeat echoed in his mind like a drumbeat he couldn’t ignore. The emerald chaos that lingered in the air hummed in tune with the rising tension, reminding them all that this wasn’t just a sibling argument - it was survival.

Sonic lay between them, small and vulnerable despite his usually brash confidence, a living pivot for their conflict. The residual energy in the room crackled faintly, a reminder of science and chaos entwined: vibrations, resonance, and energy flows interacting with the matter of the room, his fur, their bodies. Physics obeyed its rules, even as emotions seemed to defy them.

The silence returned briefly, heavier now, punctuated by shallow breaths and the faint crackle of the singed wrappings. Sonic’s thoughts swirled with the science he knew, the chaos energy that bound them, and the family he depended on. The lesson was clear, even without words: sound, like chaos, could be controlled, disrupted, and healed - but it required precision, care, and trust.

Knuckles’ chest rose sharply. “Sonic needs us alive, not just for the Master Emerald,” he growled, voice low but firm, vibrating with the remnants of authority and worry. “Do you understand?”

Tails nodded fiercely, tiny fists clenched, standing his ground. “I understand. That’s why I’m saying -”

Sonic blinked through the storm of tension, guilt, and awe, watching as their canonical personalities - Knuckles’ stubborn duty, Tails’ devoted protectiveness - intersected above him. The room, charged with static, emotion, and chaos, hummed like a living organism, waiting for the next move.

Knuckles’ eyes locked on the top bunk. He leaned onto his toes, plucked a heavy box, and brought it down to the floor in front of Sonic. Its metal plates gleamed faintly, engraved with a chaotic medley of swirls, waves, and dots - a silent promise of purpose, precision, and the weight of legacy.

Sonic hesitated, palms hovering over the smooth, cold metal. He tapped it lightly, tracing the engraved patterns with his fingers. Heat radiated faintly from the box, chaos energy humming just beneath the surface. “Isn’t this…is this the containment capsule?” he asked, his voice small against the weight pressing from all sides. 

“Just open it,” Knuckles said, voice tight with suppressed frustration. His fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically, jaw grinding as Sonic’s fingertips finally found the hidden seam along the side of the box. A faint glow pressed against his skin, chaos particles rippling like water disturbed by a pebble.

Sonic’s eyes met Tails’, startled and wide, a shy smile breaking across his face despite the chaos. “You finished it!” he whispered, voice filled with quiet awe. “That was so fast, buddy. Really…good job.”

Tails’ grin was small, nervous - thumbs twiddling as he tried to contain both pride and anxiety.

Knuckles’ scowl cut across Sonic’s reverie. “Open. The. Box.” His words jabbed like fists, and Sonic couldn’t resist any longer. The sharp scent of Knuckles’ frustration, the almost palpable intensity radiating from him, pushed Sonic’s hands to the seam.

“Right, okay…” Sonic muttered, tugging at the damaged wrapping on his right hand. His palm was slightly red, blistered from earlier strain, but intact. He pressed it to the corner of the box, feeling the thrum of contained chaos beneath his fingertips. The metal seemed almost alive, responding to him, rippling faintly under his touch as he coaxed it open.

The box began to disassemble in precise, mechanical increments. Edges twisted and separated, breaking into cubic plates, and from within, the emerald’s green radiance shimmered in a soft, haloed light. Sonic’s stomach fluttered with a mix of awe and fear as the pieces floated, suspended by some unseen resonance, forming arcs of chaos energy.

“Urm…what am I looking at…? -” Sonic whispered, blinking against the iridescent glow. Tails groaned into his hands, overwhelmed, while Maddie and Tom exchanged looks of quiet exasperation and concern.

Before Sonic could process further, Knuckles’ presence slammed down again. The echidna crouched low, hands on his knees, eyes sharp and merciless. “That’s a good question. But I was going to ask you the same,” he said, heel of boot tapping the floorboards with a rhythmic sting. “So tell me, what are you looking at, hedgehog?”

Sonic flinched. The emerald fragments spun slowly above him, glittering like captured stars. His voice faltered. “I—I don’t…understand.”

Knuckles’ finger jabbed sharply into Sonic’s shoulder, forcing him to the floor. Panic bubbled in his chest as he scrambled, trying to steady himself. “Knuckles!” Tom barked, stomping forward, voice cutting through the haze. Sonic’s heart thudded against his ribs as Knuckles’ pressure, the heat of his frustration, lingered even after release.

“What do you see?” Knuckles demanded, voice razor-sharp. Sonic’s eyes snapped to the ceiling, focusing on the floating chaos emeralds, the unbroken ring of green and gold, trying to quell the rising tide of confusion and fear within him.

“Stop talking to me like I’m stupid, Knuckles! And stop being cryptic!” Sonic snapped back in aroused anger, arms rising defensively, shielding his chest. His quills prickled with latent static, chaos energy whispering beneath his skin as his heartbeat tried to outpace the storm around him.

Knuckles leaned closer, words cutting like polished blades. “You sure? Look closer.”

Sonic’s gaze returned to the emeralds. One…two…three…four…five…six… His breath caught. “Six,” he whispered, disbelief and dread tangling together. The seventh - the master emerald itself - remained absent, leaving a gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

Tails’ tiny hand brushed his arm. “It’s okay, Sonic…we’ll figure it out,” he murmured, voice trembling with the same mixture of fear and resolve that always seemed to fuel him.

Sonic’s jaw clenched, quills still humming faintly. The room felt impossibly tight, the spinning emeralds casting fractured shadows across their faces. He swallowed, steadied his trembling hands, and braced himself for whatever explanation Knuckles would demand next.

The Master Emerald.

It called to him. Not in words, but in pulse and pressure, a thrumming vibration that synchronized with his heartbeat. Sonic’s emerald eyes locked onto the subtle gleam of green through the faint cracks of the box. And like a trap snapping shut, his mind went silent. Curtains fell over all other thoughts. He was entirely consumed, entirely drawn in.

Invisible hands seemed to guide his steps. His feet moved before his mind could protest, carrying him closer. The box glimmered with a pale jade light that shimmered across the walls, spilling green reflections over Sonic’s waist. It was mesmerizing, intoxicating - the warmth, the quiet protection of it, the whispered promise of power. It wrapped around him like a cord, binding, coaxing, tempting.

His gloved fingers brushed the metal plating along the box’s surface. Rusting bolts clicked under his touch, yet he barely noticed. His pupils dilated as he traced the outline of the chest, mesmerized by the jewel contained within. A pang of awe, a rush of greed - he wondered if anyone had warned him of this Pandora’s box, whether he should resist, whether indulgence might be catastrophic.

The quiet was absolute. Even his own thoughts seemed distant, hushed beneath the emerald’s presence. Sonic reveled in the sensation, drawn to it, desperate for it. His fingers found the latch, twisted it, and let it drop with a soft plink. The box opened.

The emerald shone brighter than he had ever seen, bathing him in light. Between his gloved palms, the jewel rested, heavy with unspent energy, trembling like a living heart. It pulsed with freedom, rolling and twisting in golden-green tornadoes of chaotic power. Sonic could feel it in his chest, in his veins, in the tips of his quills. It was an all-consuming presence.

The green glow thickened, expanding outward, forming a barrier, a cage, a voice. His lungs constricted under the pressure. Every breath was laborious, yet he refused to release the gem. It was his. Mine, mine, mine - his mind chanted.

Strength seeped from his muscles, pouring through the tiny pores of his skin. Each pulse of the stone drained him, yet exhilarated him. He stumbled against the corner of the workbench, knees buckling, yet he barely felt the impact. Intoxicated, he pressed the emerald closer, tasting the syrupy, overwhelming power coursing into him.

Chaos within the stone stirred. It throbbed, whispered, demanded, promising ecstasy and dominion. Sonic held it tighter, entranced. He followed the pull, yielding to it, letting the energy surge through him.

And then - the stone cracked. Slowly, painfully, lines spreading across its flawless surface, chaos spilling outward in uncontrolled bursts. Sonic absorbed it, drinking in the core, and reality shattered around him.

Pain and ecstasy mingled in blinding waves. Screeching in his ears, the emerald’s voice a thunderclap inside his mind, his body felt as if it were tearing itself apart. Shoes glued to the floor, jaw clenched, mind deafened by the torrent of incomprehensible voices, he realized the truth: the emerald’s gift was a trap. It seduced, it offered, and then it devoured.

He was consumed. Entirely. Pain became him, agony filled every fiber of his being. He clutched the gem as if it were his heart, holding tight against the onslaught.

A crash in the garage jolted him - a chaotic punctuation in the storm. Bangs, thuds, a scream of his name.

A force slammed into his back. The emerald’s light sputtered, the brilliance behind his eyes dimmed.

Sonic finally, remembered.

Tails’ voice cut through the tense silence like a scalpel. “You absorbed the Chaos Controlling Emerald, Sonic,” he said, his tone both awed and uncertain. He stepped closer to Sonic’s bedside, the soles of his shoes padding lightly against the metal floor. “The green one.”

He raised a hand and pointed upward toward the suspended containment ring above them. Sonic followed his gaze.

Inside the hovering energy ring floated six Chaos Emeralds - red, purple, blue, cyan, yellow, and white - each pulsing softly with its own wavelength of power. But the green one was missing. In its place drifted pale, fractured shards of glass-like crystal - the shattered shell of the missing emerald. The fragments glimmered faintly, weaving around the remaining stones like drifting leaves caught in solar wind. A faint shimmer radiated from them, scattering light across the walls like starlight through water.

Sonic reached a tentative hand toward the fragments, mesmerized by the way they seemed to breathe. But before his fingers could graze them, Knuckles swatted his hand back with a low grunt.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The tension broke with that one sharp gesture, and Tails finally asked what had been pressing on his mind. “Sonic… is something going on with you?” His voice was cautious now, fragile. The loose ends of his socks flapped at his ankles as he slowed to a stop beside him.

“Huh?” Sonic blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The emerald,” Tails began, shifting his weight as his twin tails flicked behind him. “It didn’t just let you use it - it tempted you. There’s no doubt about that.”

Sonic’s jaw tightened, his expression flattening into guarded indifference. Tails noticed but kept talking, that scientist’s spark flickering in his eyes. “But the thing is…” He trailed off, hesitating. His glance flicked toward Sonic like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going.

“What is it, Tails?” Sonic prompted, waving his hand impatiently.

Tails took a breath. “The Master Emerald is basically a compound matrix of the seven Chaos Emeralds,” he explained, gesturing toward the fractured display. “Each one on its own generates immense energy, but when they resonate together, they form a near-limitless singularity. That’s what makes the Master Emerald what it is - order forged out of chaos. It’s why the owls and the echidnas protected it for generations. Nobody could control that kind of power - not even them.”

Knuckles folded his arms, nodding slightly. “That’s right.”

Sonic’s brows furrowed. “Okay, so how does that tie into this ‘temptation’ thing?” He made exaggerated air quotes, clearly not liking the term. “I’ve used the emeralds before against Eggman and didn’t have any problems. So why now?”

Tails’ tails coiled tighter behind him as he pieced it together aloud. “Because the emeralds respond to emotional frequencies,” he said, pacing now, eyes darting between the shards. “Their energy is semi-sentient - it resonates with consciousness. When you tapped into Chaos Control, the green emerald must’ve detected instability in your energy signature - something it could exploit.” He clenched one fist into the other palm.

“The emeralds draw power from conviction, but they feed on doubt.”

Sonic blinked. “Feed on doubt?”

“Yeah,” Tails said. “If someone’s willpower fractures - even a hairline crack - the chaos energy can slip through. It mirrors that vulnerability and manifests it, creating this… emotional echo chamber. The more you resist it, the stronger it pushes back, trying to consume your energy to stabilize itself. Usually, it just drains you, but in rare cases…” His voice softened. “It tries to merge with its host.”

Sonic’s expression darkened, horror dawning on him. “You’re saying it tried to eat me?”

Tails nodded reluctantly. “Pretty much. If Knuckles hadn’t intervened, you’d have been completely absorbed.” He crouched beside Sonic’s bed, his gaze analytical again. “But the weird part is - you didn’t just stop it. You reversed it. Somehow, you pulled it into you. Like you reabsorbed its energy pattern at a molecular level.”

Sonic frowned. “So that’s why I’m like this?” He flexed his fingers, testing the faint tremor that ran through them. His legs still felt heavy, his balance off.

“Exactly. The emerald’s energy overstimulated your neuromuscular system,” Tails explained, gently massaging Sonic’s thigh where the muscles twitched. “It’s like your entire nervous network short-circuited from the overload. But don’t worry - it’ll recalibrate naturally. Your body just needs time to discharge the excess chaos current.”

Sonic exhaled through his nose, managing a faint grin. “You always make it sound so simple.”

Tails smiled back, but it didn’t last long. His expression shifted again, softer now, uncertain. He sat down beside Sonic, folding his tails in close. “But… about my earlier question.” He hesitated, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Are you really okay? Emotionally, I mean.”

Sonic blinked at him. “Emotionally?”

“The emerald could only affect you if something inside you let it,” Tails said, eyes glistening slightly as his voice cracked. “That means… you must’ve been doubting yourself. Maybe even hurting.”

Sonic’s heart twisted. He hated seeing Tails look like that - eyes glassy, lip trembling.

“Hey, hey,” Sonic said quickly, taking Tails’ hand and pressing it over his own chest. “Feel that? Heart’s still beating. I’m still here. Nothing’s taking me down that easy.”

Tails sniffled, wiping at his face, and Sonic brushed the corner of his brother’s eye with a thumb, smiling faintly.

“See? You don’t have to worry so much, buddy.”

“But I do,” Tails whispered.

Sonic squeezed his hand. “Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “But that’s what makes you… you.”

The room hummed quietly with the pulse of the remaining emeralds, their light flickering like distant stars - unsteady, but still shining.

Tails’ voice trembled mid-sentence. “It’s just that… y-you -”

Before he could finish, a large hand rested gently on his head. Tails flinched but quickly relaxed when he looked up and saw who it belonged to.

Tom Wachowski’s warm expression met his. “Oh, what am I gonna do with you boys?” he sighed, his tone affectionate but tired. His hand ruffled the fur between Tails’ ears in slow, calming motions, smoothing down the quills at the back of his head.

Sonic shook and slouched against the bedframe, his trademark grin flickering but not quite staying. He watched as Tails leaned into Tom’s hand - small, weary, and comforted by the gesture. There was something bittersweet about it. Sonic knew Tails deserved that softness more than he did right now. His little genius… the kid who carried too much responsibility for someone his age.

Sonic turned his gaze away, letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

Then, from the dark corners of his mind, a memory forced its way to the surface - Tails’ voice echoing like thunder from the night before:

“I’ve been up for hours making sure he’s breathing and that the box is completed! To keep him safe!”

Sonic’s chest tightened. He didn’t ask questions about that night - about how he’d died and come back - but deep down, he already had his suspicions. Chaos Control was volatile. Unstable. His body wasn’t built to withstand that much raw power. The green Chaos Emerald’s energy had likely overloaded his physiology - his nervous system, even his heart - before rebooting him like a fried circuit.

He’d figure it out later. When things calmed down. When Tails didn’t have to carry that fear anymore.

For now, Sonic decided to let it rest. Tom had scooped Tails into his arms - cradling him like a child asking for “uppies,” as human kids called it. The little fox nuzzled in, exhaustion finally pulling him under.

And conveniently, that meant Tails didn’t notice Sonic avoid his earlier question again.

“Wait, wait, wait - ” Sonic’s tone snapped back to its usual mix of frustration and mock impatience. He gestured wildly from the floor. “What about the emerald?” He jabbed at his chest where the shard’s energy still lingered. “You said it was inside me - what happens now?”

Tails frowned from Tom’s arms. “It can still be extracted. But it’s not going to be easy.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “We’d need a high-density chaos conductor - something powerful enough to override your body’s bond with the emerald’s wavelength. I don’t have that kind of tech yet.”

Knuckles’ name came up before Tails could stop himself. “Knuckles tried,” he said, squinting down from Tom’s shoulder at the echidna. “Without telling me. But I caught him.”

He jabbed two fingers toward his eyes, then spun them toward Knuckles. “Watched you like a hawk after that.”

“Why stop him if you want it out?” Sonic asked, confusion creasing his brow.

Tails rubbed his neck. “Because the process isn’t safe. To remove a Chaos fragment that’s bonded to your life force, you’d need another chaos source of equal strength. The power required would rival the Master Emerald’s full output.” His tails flicked nervously. “That much energy could tear your molecular field apart. You wouldn’t survive it, if it were miscalculated.”

Knuckles, who had been silently simmering in the background, finally snapped. “Why are you scolding me, fox? If anyone deserves the blame, it’s him!” He jabbed a thumb at Sonic. “I’ve done nothing but try to restore my honor as Guardian and protect the Master Emerald - something you seem to forget, hedgehog!”

“Hey, whoa, hold on! It was an accident!” Sonic shot back, standing abruptly, legs wobbling but steadying under him. “You think I wanted to blow up the emerald?”

“Accident or not, the damage is done!” Knuckles barked, closing the distance between them. “Do you even realize what you’ve unleashed? You didn’t just crack the Master Emerald - you scattered its energy across half the planet! There was a barrier of chaos energy stretching around Green Hill like some kind of force field! And that beam that shot into space?” His voice rose with each word. “It’s a signal flare, Sonic! Who knows what kind of beings it just alerted?”

Sonic’s face twisted, the weight of guilt settling heavily on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen…”

“But it did happen!” Knuckles’ voice thundered, echoing off the walls. “Do you think we can just take that back? You’ve unleashed something ancient - something alive! Chaos energy attracts what it recognizes. If it calls to something out there, you can bet they’ll come looking.”

Sonic pressed his palms into his eyes, teeth gritted. “You think I don’t know that?! You think I planned for this?” He looked up sharply, his voice breaking through the static of his own frustration. “You really think I’d risk all of you for some stupid power trip?”

“I didn’t say that!” Knuckles shot back, though the conviction wavered. “You were reckless! You ignored the warnings, the consequences - and now we might all pay the price.”

The tension cracked. Both of them breathing hard, locked in a stare that burned hotter than any Chaos flare.

Knuckles’ anger began to ebb, replaced by something quieter - fear, maybe, or exhaustion. “Everyone here is in danger now, Sonic. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

Sonic’s expression softened. For the first time, he saw past Knuckles’ fury - to the worry beneath it. The fear of losing what little family they’d built.

“I get it, man,” Sonic said quietly, lowering his head. “I know I messed up. Real bad. But fighting about it won’t fix anything.”

Knuckles shook his head. “You don’t get it. You’ve hurt us, Sonic.”

Sonic froze. “...What?”

“You broke your oath.”

It hit like a Chaos Blast to the chest. Sonic staggered back, breath catching in his throat.

“You swore to protect the Master Emerald,” Knuckles continued, his voice trembling but resolute. “You promised to guard it with your life - and instead, you used it. For yourself.”

“I never meant to - ”

“But you did.” Knuckles’ tone hardened, the weight of his role pressing down on every word. “The Master Emerald is shattered. Its power is scattered through space. The piece that could fix it is fused inside you.” His eyes narrowed. 

“So I’m exercising my right as Guardian to revoke your pledge.” The wall between them came down - severed them from each other. 

Sonic’s eyes went wide. “Wait - what? No! You can’t - Knuckles, please, just listen!” He grabbed Knuckles’ arm, desperation tightening his grip. “I didn’t know! I never wanted this to happen!”

Knuckles refused to meet his gaze. His jaw set, his stance firm. “Not anymore,” he said quietly. “Not to this emerald.”

“Why?” Sonic’s voice broke. “At least tell me why.”

Knuckles hesitated. He didn’t want to say it - but when Sonic looked at him, eyes raw and pleading, he knew he had to.

“Because I don’t trust you anymore,” he said finally, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “Not with yourself. Not with Tails. And definitely not with this.” He exhaled shakily, raking a hand through his quills. “How can I, when you haven’t even tried to apologize?”

Sonic’s head dropped. The silence between them was suffocating.

Knuckles turned away, but stopped at the door. “You have no honor, Sonic.”

That broke him. Sonic didn’t say another word. He just turned and bolted - out the door, through the trees, his figure dissolving into a streak of blue light.

Behind him, voices called out - Tom, Tails, Maddie, even Knuckles - but Sonic didn’t look back. Not this time.

Chapter Text

He shouldn’t be running yet - he knew that.

Each stride tugged at the knots in his thighs, a dull cramp twisting upward and catching fire in his tendons. The ache gripped tight and refused to let go. He hissed between his teeth, cursing the backlash of his own choices. Fatigue poured into his bones like wet cement, slowing him, burying him. But stopping? He didn’t know how. Not when the pain in his chest outpaced the one in his legs.

The world around him blurred into motion. Trees melted into brushstrokes of green and gold, watercolour streaks dripping and bending under the pull of his speed. Sweat mingled with the sting of wind against his face. Blue sparks trailed behind him, cracking across the shadows like lightning scars. The forest darkened as he dove deeper, but all Sonic could focus on was the rhythm - left, right, repeat. Feet slapping the dirt, vaulting roots, dodging branches.

The beat steadied him. The thump-thump-thump beneath his soles echoed in his head until it drowned everything else. The air whirled around him, following in torn spirals. Leaves chased his wake like desperate echoes. He shut his ears off to the noise of the world, let his instincts take over - the automatic rhythm of pick up, drop, pick up, drop. His quills snapped in the wind, scattering like static behind him. The breeze lashed his skin, raw and stinging, reckless - like him. Reckless and raw as Knuckles’ voice replayed in the back of his mind, still burning fresh.

“You broke your oath.”

The words struck like nails in his skull, impossible to dig out. They burrowed deep, pressing into his ribs until the air left him. Chaos pulsed in his head, loud and merciless. Sonic clenched his eyes shut, running harder - faster - anything to silence the noise. His rage, once white-hot, cooled into something heavier. Shame. He could taste it, metallic on his tongue. Because no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t outrun himself.

If only he’d left that damned emerald alone.

“You’ve hurt us.” 

He could still see Knuckles’ face - his brother’s face - tight with anger, redder than the stones he guarded. Concern twisted into fury, love into accusation. And maybe Sonic deserved that. Maybe both of them did. Words thrown like knives, none sharp enough to kill but all sharp enough to scar. So, in true Sonic fashion, he’d bolted. The coward’s way out.

“I don’t trust you anymore. Not with yourself. Not with Tails. And definitely not with this..”

He winced. He’d give anything to tear those words apart, shred them to dust and scatter them where no one could ever find them.

“You have no honour. Sonic.” 

The ache in his chest hollowed into something quieter. A bruise that wouldn’t heal.

“So I’m exercising my right as Guardian to revoke your pledge.”

And still, every step was a defiance - a silent screw you whispered to the wind. Maybe he’d messed up, but he hadn’t deserved that. Not the cruelty, not the dismissal. He’d made a mistake - people did. Even heroes. Knuckles had, Tails had, everyone had. Why couldn’t his brother see that his intentions had been good? That the emerald had used him, not the other way around?

He knew he’d failed them. He just didn’t know how to fix it. Longclaw’s words flickered faintly in his head: Move forward. Don’t break yourself over what’s done.

But Knuckles had done exactly that - broken him. Left him tied to a mistake he couldn’t undo.

So he ran. He ran from the judgement, the questions, the way their eyes darted away like he was a bomb waiting to blow. Home didn’t feel like home anymore - it felt like a cell padded with pity. And Knuckles, the only one who hadn’t treated him like glass, had finally shattered him instead.

And in the end… maybe he’d proved them right.

The thought flickered - and he missed the root jutting from the ground.

“Shit!”

Pain lanced through his ankles as they twisted under him. His body folded mid-stride, momentum yanking him forward. Instinct kicked in - arms shooting out, weight shifting, balance scrambling for purchase. He caught himself, barely, skidding through mud. Brown water splattered his calves as he spun out, boots squealing against the slick ground. He stumbled into a tree, arms wrapping it in a reflexive hug to stop his spin. Bark scraped his chest, breath jerking out of him.

“Ugh - ” He groaned, steadying himself. “That could’ve been worse.”

For a second, all he heard was his pulse. Then - quiet.

When he lifted his eyes, dawn was blooming. Orange light trickled through the canopy, staining the forest floor in melted gold. The branches swayed and whispered overhead, willows brushing together like sighs. The sun stretched across the sky, chasing the darkness away, desperate to fill every shadow.

Sonic lifted a hand toward a stray beam, watching it break across his fingers. Dust motes floated like tiny comets in its glow. The light bent over the lake nearby, rippling across the water’s surface in trembling rainbows.

He let out a soft, guilty laugh. “Sorry, tree,” he muttered, unclasping his arms and brushing bark from his fur. His eyes lingered on the water, the reflection warping his shape. The ache in his body was a mirror to the heaviness inside his chest. Because where could he go now? Certainly not home. Not yet.

His gaze traced the lake’s edge, where moss thickened and dirt turned soft. The trees here were familiar - older, darker, the ground stitched with roots he’d once tripped over as a kid. A small tug in his mind, a thread of memory unspooling.

He knew this place.

Not the home with four walls and windows - but his home. The one buried beneath the earth, carved into stone and shadow.

His cave.

His old home.

The decision rooted deep in his chest, solid as stone, as Sonic limped back beneath the shelter of the forest canopy. He forsook his speed, letting his stride falter down the steep mountainside. Each step sent a cry through his ankle - a cruel reminder of how far he’d fallen. The forest blurred into memory, every tree a ghost pulling him toward the cave he’d abandoned long ago. His feet slowed, not from weakness - though his body screamed for rest - but from hesitation. What if it wasn’t there anymore? What if time had taken it from him, like everything else?

He hadn’t seen it in years. Expecting it to remain untouched felt arrogant, almost selfish. The cave was a tomb of the past - of who he’d once been, before the chaos emerald, before Knuckles’ words had carved new scars into him. Sonic exhaled shakily, stepping over a hollow log eaten away by insects. Life had changed shape around him since those days: louder, heavier, tangled in duties and expectations. Back then, when he’d lived there alone, he’d never imagined ending up like this - adrift, uncertain, gasping on every breath. The cave was the only place that had ever made sense to him.

The trek wasn’t long, but it was grueling. His leg weakened with each limping step, drained by what the emerald had taken from him. He still didn’t fully understand it - how something so powerful could leave him so hollow. But then, just beyond the bend where a white chalk mark scarred a tree trunk, past the gnarled roots that rose like steps carved by nature itself - he saw it.

The sight made his breath catch.

Thorns snagged at his arms as he moved closer, their stinging scratches almost grounding him, whispering see? it’s still here. He wanted to believe that. But when he reached the rise in the earth, he stopped cold.

The entrance was gone.

He was surrounded by forest - green, endless, and alive - but where his cave should have yawned open, a fallen tree lay sprawled, massive and ancient. Trees were meant to reach upward, toward light and sky - not collapse and die against the slope. Its body was split nearly in two, bark flaked and hollow with age. It must’ve fallen years ago, the break jagged as if the mountain itself had flung it down.

Sonic craned his neck to look up the cliff. Maybe a storm had dislodged it - or maybe the earth itself had thrown a tantrum, shoving the tree into his hiding place. He pressed a hand against the trunk, testing its weight. It groaned faintly under the push but barely rolled. His strength bled into the effort until his arms trembled.

He gasped, winded, drained of even chaos energy. The disappointment struck deeper than he expected. He’d been rejected - by fate, by his own sanctuary. Fingernails bit into the bark in frustration. Pain spiked up his leg as he braced his shoulder against the trunk again. He shoved. It didn’t budge. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. One more push. Another. Bark cracked under the pressure. The log shifted - a breath, a whisper.

A final heave, air burning in his lungs, and the tree creaked forward. A narrow sliver of darkness appeared beneath it - a gap, jagged but wide enough. Sonic smiled weakly. “Good enough,” he muttered, lowering himself down. He slid through the opening, scraping fur and skin, but the sting barely registered.

He landed on cold stone. The familiar chill reached through his feet and up his spine. His ankle twitched in protest as he stumbled upright, swaying. The dim beam of light from above barely pierced the dark. He stretched out a hand, feeling along the wall for orientation.

Dust clogged his nose. The air was thick with mildew and damp soil, tinged by something… off. A salty, metallic tang. The scent wasn’t familiar. Still, he let the memories pour in. The nights spent here as a kid, alone but safe. The air felt heavier now, not because of the years passed but because of what he’d brought with him - his thoughts, his regrets, his ghosts.

His gloved hand brushed against the rough wall, finding old chalk dust under his fingers. He smiled faintly. He used to draw here - childish sketches of Longclaw, messy lines forming wings too wide and eyes too kind. The owl’s face never came out right, but he’d loved trying. He could still picture it: a crooked owl, a blue hedgehog drawn beside her, both ridiculous and precious.

He let his hand drag across the wall, imagining the colours even as the darkness hid them. The air grew colder as he limped deeper in. The deeper he went, the more the silence pressed against him. Moss coated the stone like wet velvet, glowing faintly when struck by his faint blue aura.

He hesitated, wondering if anyone else had found this place in his absence. A gnawed stick at his feet suggested maybe - but the emptiness answered otherwise. He didn’t belong here anymore, not truly.

Sonic tripped over a low rock, hissed, and then laughed softly as memory struck. Of course - his old hoard. His “treasure.” Broken junk scattered in the corner: bottle caps, cracked marbles, sun-bleached shells, and rusted trinkets scavenged from trails. He crouched, running his fingers over the old collection. A waterlogged camera. A half-broken pair of human headphones. He’d never returned them. Finders keepers, he’d told himself back then.

He chuckled under his breath. “Longclaw would’ve had my feathers for this,” he murmured. You mustn’t let the humans see you, Sonic. Stay hidden. Run if you’re found. Strict owl. Wise owl. Gone owl.

He picked up the bottle cap - its rusted edges catching faint light - and turned it over. His reflection shimmered in the warped metal, small and ghostly. Back then, he used to watch the stars and think the sky would never fall. He’d believed that.

Sonic sank to the ground, back pressing against what was left of an old beanbag. The fabric crumbled under his weight, puffing dust into the air. He coughed, blinking through the haze. The ankle screamed its complaint, throbbing in sync with his heartbeat.

He let the quiet swallow him whole. No voices calling his name. No engines. No battles. Just stillness - and the thoughts he didn’t want to face.

He couldn’t go back.

Not yet.

Knuckles, Tails, Maddie - he could see their faces, each flickering between anger and worry. He couldn’t face them like this, not when he barely recognized himself. The bruises from the emerald’s backlash pulsed beneath his ribs, glowing faintly green beneath fur. The energy lingered like a parasite, coiling around his bones, whispering: I’m here, Sonic.

He didn’t know what it would do - or what it was already doing. He just knew it scared him.

He felt wrong. Alien. Dangerous.

If the emerald’s influence surfaced again, what if he hurt them? What if next time, Knuckles couldn’t pull him back? He couldn’t risk that. He couldn’t be that monster. Better to isolate himself, learn control, and keep them safe. His guilt was heavy - but safer than the alternative.

So, the cave would be his refuge.

His prison.

His atonement.

Here, no one would ask if he was okay while already deciding he wasn’t.

Pain spiked through his leg again. He winced, curling in on himself. The throb in his heart matched the pulse in his ankle - a cruel rhythm he couldn’t silence. He stared into the dark, letting the ache consume him. Letting himself feel like he deserved it.

Then - 

He flinched.

A sound. Faint. Fragile. Human.

Sonic’s breath froze in his throat. Every muscle locked. His ears rotated sharply, twitching for direction.

There it was again. A shallow, broken exhale. Not an echo. Not his imagination.

Someone else was here.

He lowered to the ground, palm flattening on the stone, feeling for vibration. The air shifted. His heart slammed against his ribs.

The noise came again - slightly louder this time. A rasp. A breath.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw it - a shape sprawled on the cave floor, just ahead. Unmoving except for small, tremulous shivers.

“...Hello?” Sonic called quietly.

No answer.

He groaned as he pushed himself upright, every joint protesting. “H-Hey, are you - ?” He took a cautious step closer, then another.

Roots brushed against his shoulders as he edged forward, weaving through the shadows. The dim light from the entry crack flickered across the figure - and Sonic’s stomach dropped.

Someone was lying there.

Definitely Mobian, definitely injured. Sonic’s quills bristled, static flashing faintly around him as instinct fought indecision. He could feel chaos energy radiating faintly from the stranger, prickling his fingertips like heat from an open flame.

Up close, the figure came into focus—a hedgehog, maybe close to his own age. But his fur was darker - charcoal black streaked with deep crimson, like molten veins. And across one ear, burned into the skin, were numbers: 017.

Sonic swallowed hard. “...What the heck happened to you?”

The hedgehog didn’t stir. Blood crusted his ears, staining fur that had once been smooth. His chest rose faintly, barely alive. His ankle was shattered, bone pushing against torn skin. Sonic had seen injuries before - but this was brutal.

That number - 017 - rang like a warning. “If the emerald is ever lost to space, they’ll track it. They’ll come for it.”

Was this one of them?

He should walk away.

He knew he should.

But the smell of iron and infection filled his lungs. The stranger’s body radiated feverish heat, breaths shallow and pained. Sonic’s hand lifted on instinct, trembling, stopping just above the stranger’s shoulder.

He hesitated. His mind split in two - the hero and the cynic.

You’ll only make things worse.

He’s dying. You can’t leave him.

He grit his teeth. The infection was bad - greenish pus at the shoulder, fur matted and slick. The heat coming off him was unnatural, fever bordering on lethal. Then - he felt it. Not warmth. Not breath. Energy.

A current leapt from the stranger into Sonic’s palm - a violent jolt of chaos, red clashing with the green still coiled inside him. Sonic’s body spasmed. His eyes widened.

It wasn’t just energy - it was the same kind.

A chaos wielder.

“...Oh, man.” Sonic whispered, chest tightening. “You’re one of us.”

His pulse hammered. His instincts screamed warnings. But the choice had already rooted itself inside him. He couldn’t walk away from this - not again.

“Alright,” he said quietly, forcing a shaky smile as blue light began to gather around him. “This might hurt.”

He slipped his arms beneath the stranger and lifted carefully, cradling the limp hedgehog against his chest. Blood smeared against his gloves. The head lolled against him, light and fever-hot.

Knuckles would kill him for this.

But that could wait.

Enemy or not, Sonic couldn’t let someone die - not here, not alone.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he murmured, brushing the stranger’s quills from his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here.”

With a burst of blue lightning, Sonic vanished from the cave’s darkness.

Chapter Text

Sonic’s arms trembled. Not from strain, but from the weight of what he carried.

The hedgehog in his hold was too still, too heavy for someone his size. It wasn’t the kind of heaviness that came from muscle or mass - it was the dead weight of a life flickering somewhere between staying and slipping.

The forest blurred around him, but he wasn’t seeing it. Every tree, every splash of light that filtered through the canopy was an indistinguishable smear as he tore through it. The world folded away beneath his feet - roots, rocks, the remains of last season’s leaves. His shoes barely touched the ground.

And still, it wasn’t fast enough.

The figure in his arms - the stranger - burned like a furnace. Fevered heat seeped through Sonic’s gloves, pricking his skin. Shadow, though he didn’t yet know his name, was limp against him, the rise and fall of his chest shallow and uneven. His breath rattled against Sonic’s arm, a noise that was too fragile for the chaos still whispering in Sonic’s own chest.

He should have left him there. He knew that.  Every rational voice he had was screaming it.

The emerald’s power was still stirring inside him, restless and unpredictable. He could feel it humming in the marrow of his bones, the same chaotic vibration that nearly tore him apart just hours ago. If it woke again, if it lashed out - what then? What if it wasn’t finished with him, or worse, what if it reached for the stranger in his arms?

But then he’d seen the blood. The cracks in that stranger’s armor of fur and quills. The shaking. The quiet, desperate sound of someone still alive but barely holding on.

He couldn’t walk away from that.  He couldn’t walk away from him.

The clearing came into view like the end of a nightmare - his home nestled at the edge of the forest, its lights glowing faintly against the dusk. The safety of it mocked him. His chest heaved as he slowed, boots skidding across the dirt path that led to the porch.

Maddie was inside. She’d know what to do. She always did.

The door banged open before he even knocked. Tail’s voice, sharp with leftover frustration and worry, hit him first. “Sonic? What the—”

But whatever came next shriveled in his throat. His eyes went wide, tails curling stiffly behind him as he caught sight of the limp hedgehog in Sonic’s arms.

Knuckles stepped in behind him, brow furrowed, the familiar frown deepening into something unreadable. “uh-uh, you’re not bringing him in-”

“Who is that?” Tail’s pushed Knuckle’s out of the doorway. 

Sonic’s breath hitched. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “But he’s hurt. Bad.”

He hadn’t meant to sound like that - frantic, pleading - but the words ripped out anyway.

Tom appeared next, his face going pale as he took in the sight. “What did you - Sonic, is that - ?”

“He’s alive,” Sonic cut him off, voice breaking. “Barely.”

Maddie’s voice was the last to join, steady and commanding as she pushed past them. “Get him inside. Now.”

Her tone was clinical, immediate - no hesitation. She gestured toward the couch, already rolling up her sleeves. “Set him down gently. Tails, grab my kit. Tom, I need warm water in a bowl and towels - now.”

The chaos of movement filled the room. The hum of urgency, but beneath it, a quiet unease no one could name.

Sonic obeyed, lowering Shadow onto the couch. The stranger’s body twitched faintly, a noise escaping him - something half between a groan and a growl. His fur, matted and sticky with blood, glistened under the lamplight. The red streaks across his limbs looked darker here, sinister even.

Maddie leaned in immediately. Her hands were careful but sure, checking vitals, peeling back ruined fabric, examining the wound on his shoulder that festered with an unnatural yellow sheen. The air filled with the sharp tang of antiseptic and iron.

“This infection’s bad,” she muttered, half to herself. “Active hemorrhage, penetrating trauma, Electrical burns, shock, god…he’s been like this a while.” 

Tails hovered close, his brow knotted as he adjusted the angle of the light. “He’s not from around here,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen a hedgehog with markings like that.”

Knuckles folded his arms, glaring down at the unconscious form. “Doesn’t matter where he’s from. What if he’s here for the Master - ”

“Don’t,” Sonic snapped, his voice sharper than he meant. His hands balled into fists. “Don’t start with that right now.”

The tension in his throat cracked with the words. Maddie’s hand brushed his arm, steady but firm. “Enough,” she said softly. “Not now. Sonic, I need you to breathe. You’re shaking.”

He looked down - and realized she was right. His fingers trembled, the quills on his arms faintly sparking with blue static that faded just as fast. He stepped back, swallowing hard.

“Is he gonna make it?” he asked, the words barely more than a whisper.

Maddie hesitated. Her silence was its own kind of answer. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “But I’m going to try.”

The next minutes blurred together. The sound of water, the tear of bandages, the soft click of metal tools. Maddie worked with a quiet intensity - focused, efficient, calm in the way people only are when they’ve seen too much.

Sonic couldn’t look away from the stranger’s face. The shape of his muzzle, the faint twitch beneath his closed eyes, the scar that ran across the ridge of one ear. Whoever he was, he didn’t look peaceful. Even unconscious, his expression was locked in pain - brows drawn tight, teeth faintly gritted.

“Hold that light steady,” Maddie said to Tails, who obeyed without a word. “I need to see the wound base… there. Good. It’s deep, but not fatal. Not yet.”

Her words should’ve comforted Sonic. They didn’t.

Every second he stood there, he felt that same pull in his chest. The quiet hum of something alive inside him - the chaos energy still coiled from before. It reacted to the stranger. It recognized him. He could feel the vibration synchronizing, a ghost of that earlier shock that had surged between them when their energy met.

Whoever this was, he wasn’t ordinary. He wasn’t safe.

And yet, when Shadow coughed - when his hand twitched faintly against the blanket - Sonic flinched forward. Instinct, pure and simple.

He caught Maddie’s glance, the one that said you care too much, but you can’t stop yourself.

He didn’t deny it.

Hours slipped by. The fever broke only slightly, Shadow’s breathing steadying in small, uncertain waves. Maddie washed her hands, exhaustion hanging off her shoulders as she finally sat back.

“He’ll live,” she said softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “For now.” 

Sonic stared at the stranger - this dark, unknown hedgehog whose very presence seemed to hum with the same chaos that had nearly destroyed him. The quiet in the house felt unnatural. Every breath, every creak of the floorboards underfoot sounded too loud, too sharp.

“It’s all up to him now - Whether he makes it through the night.” 

He could feel it - the dread crawling beneath his skin. The sense that bringing this stranger home hadn’t saved anyone.

It had only opened a door.

And something had stepped through.

The world came back dizzyingly fast and in fragments. Shadows of shapes collided with shards of light, black and white jagged streaks tearing across the edges of his vision. His mind struggled to stitch them together, to anchor itself in a reality that refused to stay still. The smell hit first - a sharp, sterile bite of antiseptic that clawed at the back of his skull and made the dull throb in his shoulder flare.

Where - ? His body trembled, arms shaking as though they were leaves in a storm, when he forced himself upright. Four walls, soft but caging, closed in. Yellowed with age, stained in places, peeling at the corners like old paper curling under the tide of years. The mattress beneath him gave slightly, buoyant in a way that made his movements precarious. Pain coiled along his shoulder, slithering through his consciousness, sharpening every second with electric insistence.

The curtains blocked the light in heavy folds of deep blue, slivers of white peeking over the top. Shadow’s eyes flicked downward, tracing the white bandages wrapped haphazardly around him, zigzagging over crimson stains. His fingers brushed against the fabric, testing its strength, its security.

He was alone. 

The room, empty, whispered questions he had no answers for. Bunks lined the walls, fluffed blankets and sheets stacked neatly. One covered his chest, red like his quills, warm against his skin, and for a brief moment he let the comfort reach him. But even that warmth carried unease; he did not know who had left him here, and not knowing bred the sharpest edge of dread.

Shadow’s thoughts fractured, images of sterile trays, restrained limbs, tubes, and scalpel blades flashing like memory or nightmare. That had been his normal. The absence of it now felt stranger than any pain, any injury, any past torment. He lifted an arm. The bandages tugged, the skin protested, but the movement was smooth. His ankle, previously shattered, was cast neatly, whole. Shock coursed through him. Someone had cared.

Care. He had been conditioned to distrust it. To expect the knife, not the balm. And yet, here it was - stranger than any chaos he’d ever faced.

Somehow, that unsettled him more. 

A small flicker caught his eye - a pot of lavender perched atop a shelf. And he remembered.

Maria.

Pain and memory collided, thick and unrelenting. Maria, trapped in darkness, surrounded by hands that would never let her go. Fear twisted in his chest, pulling him upright. 

Shadow moved carefully, shifting out of his blankets so he could sit at the edge of this bed. The stitches in his skin threatening to pop open. Blood coating the inside of his teeth. His desire and ambitions, demanding that he be quick. Before these unknown people come for him. 

The floorboards groaned under his weight, each creak a scream urging him to stop, to retreat.

Maria.

He hissed her name, air whistling through the gaps beneath his feet. The quills along his back bristled as though her name alone could spark them into motion. He remembered her trapped in that endless darkness - blackness that swallowed everything, thick and viscous, freezing green sludge suffocating her.

She must long for a speck of familiarity. On the Ark, his eldest, his only sister, slumbered beneath the feet of patrolling men - guns at their hips, badges gleaming on their blazers - walking scorn and damnation.

Shadow’s breath caught on the prickly hooks of his throat.

Like a fish on a hook, his heart stretched painfully at the thought of her trapped, condemned, helpless. The image seared through him, frostbite against his skin, and he forced himself upright. His hands slammed onto the headboard of his bed as he stumbled forward. A muted whimper escaped him, brittle joints groaning beneath his weight.

Maria.

His promise. He had to keep it. He would return to her, to his sun. No matter what unspeakable trials it demanded, he would endure.

His heart raced, a hummingbird trapped in his chest, wings beating wetly and rapidly, as if time itself might stop at any second. He nearly tripped; his fingers slid off the support as the floorboards creaked beneath him, amplifying the nervous energy in his gut. His ankle twitched over the dented surface, old sores screaming in protest.

Chaos… why did the door seem to drift farther the closer he got?

Maria. Maria. Maria.

Sweat stung his eyes. He prayed - not the shallow prayers of humans, but a desperate, endless wish for her safety. Did he make the right choice, hiding her beneath their noses? Was it too obvious? Would they dig her out from the Arks core and - ? The urgency slowed his trembling steps.

Should he have left her at all?

Shadow pressed his hand to his ribs, wondering if they were cracking under the pounding of his heart. He’d be surprised if they weren’t. Panic vibrated through his ears. Everything inside him screamed for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Colors bled and spun around him; the room cartwheeled in maddening rhythm.

“Shadow?” Chaos. 

He froze. A whisper, faint but certain, pierced the chaos. His knees jerked forward as his soles scraped the floor in a precarious balance. He stumbled, drunken on exhaustion, clutching an empty cylinder of where his chaos used to rest that felt heavier than lead.

“Shadow?”

Not a dream. His gaze snapped to the bark-carved doorway, creaking open. A cold hallway sloped downward before him, descending like a cliff into the unknown.

The incline loomed like a gaping maw, swallowing light and sound. Shadow pressed his hand to the smooth doorframe, polished and solid beneath his fingers. His breath ripped through clenched teeth, sour and sharp like citrus. Beyond, the hallway shimmered unreal, fragile - as if it would melt beneath him if he dared to step.

His body felt alien, heavy with pain, fragile. Knees knocking, hip scraping the wall, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

The air shifted. Sharp, comforting - a hint of mint. He inhaled, grounding himself from the haze of a hospital clinic, and staggered forward, one foot at a time. The floor wobbled beneath him; vision tilted.

Shadow huffed, desperate to steady himself. He failed—and then, in his periphery, movement.

A shadow, not his own, slipped into the light beyond the hallway. It had been there, still and silent, until it moved - a hesitant shuffle. His head, heavy as molten metal, lifted toward it. Fear clenched his chest. He braced for them - doctors, armed with clipboards, capes of white.

Instinctively, his hand curled at his waist. Empty. Powerless. A broken man, trembling. He blinked, desperate to see.

The figure stood frozen, small, watching. Silent. One careful step, then another, each thump deliberate in the quiet.

Shadow blinked. Again. Twice. Vision doubled, then reformed into a kaleidoscope of colors, settling finally into sunshine yellow.

“Shadow?” A voice, quiet, careful, cut through the oppressive silence.

The world narrowed. The hallway stretched beyond the room like an unknown void. Movement at its edge, subtle, deliberate. Shadow squinted. A small figure emerged, cautious, precise - a fox, young, gloved, tail swaying like a pendulum.

The blue eyes that met his were wide, unguarded, and Shadow felt an unfamiliar jolt. A presence that was not threat, not chaos, not a blade - but something else. He tensed, instincts screaming, but the fox did not flinch.

His eyes were the same shade of  blue as hers. 

The hand steadying him, suddenly slipped in his confusion. The wall, too sanded down for any grip, and Shadow couldn’t help it when his injured shoulder banged the wall. Pain flared up in a stinging flash, making his face involuntarily contort. And this time, a more surficial reaction was yanked from the stranger.  

“W-woah, it’s alright. Grab on to me. I’ll walk you back to bed.”

And against every training, every rule, Shadow let him. Fingers wrapped over the fox’s palm, firm yet gentle. A quiet surrender, foreign and terrifying.

Tails didn’t respond, nor flinch, when Shadow squeezed him back. An anchor to his steps, the foxes gloves slipping  inside his porcelain grip. And as he moved, he didn’t pull away. Only advancing to change his carry. And though he was younger and smaller, Shadow in his declining vision, noticed he didn’t waiver. His presence, strong but nervous, and he felt it in how the foxes body slightly shook against him. But layered, beneath that. Was a grounding steadiness and motivation to get Shadow to where he needed to be. 

Step by step, the fox guided him, careful not to rush, careful not to break. Shadow’s shoulder flared, muscles trembling, and yet he did not resist. The red blanket slid to the floor as he reached the bed, collapsing onto it like a weight finally permitted to rest.

“Are you…alright?” the fox asked, tentative. Shadow did not answer immediately, eyes fixed on a crooked nail in the wall, a lone sparrow trapped in frame.

Shadow blinked again. Then, twice.

“Shadow?” The fox repeated, gently, quietly like he was afraid of spooking Shadow. The darkness under those blues, so deep and lined by sleepiness. A forecast weather storm of fatigue that shouldn’t belong to a boy as young as this. 

But as he whispered his name, the fox did nothing. No rushing, no shouting for help or trying to hurt him. 

Shadow hated it. Hated that he was powerless, that he relied on a stranger. That he leaned his full weight on this child because he could not summon his chaos.

He held his breath as nausea tumbled through him. 

“How do you know my name?” His voice tried to carry steel, but the edge of bitterness leaked through. He truly wondered - he had never seen another Mobian this close, never spoken to one. How could he know?

The fox smiled, lightly scratching the tuft of fur between his oversized ears. “Oh - sorry, you must’ve been startled. You were out of it when Sonic brought you in. You said a lot…names, places…someone called Maria. I wasn’t sure if it was real.” He moved around the bed, kneeling to check beneath it, unaware of Shadow’s flinch.

“We didn’t press, though. Don’t worry.” 

Shadow looked away sharply. “She’s real.” The words slipped out firmer than intended - a line drawn, faint but unmistakable. The fox paused mid-motion, lips pressing thin, silently respectful, and asked no more.

Shadow noticed the boy’s tension immediately: shoulders high, poised like a small animal before a predator, tails tucked behind his back. Each motion was precise, careful, choreographed to avoid error. Hands jittered slightly as he pushed boxes under the bed - a subtle melody of panic and duty.

Shadow watched him, really watched him, and something shifted. This wasn’t just a kid playing nurse. This was a Mobian carrying more weight than someone so small should ever bear. Fatigue etched into every line of his face, focus taut across his brow, uneven breaths betraying the quiet tension of proximity to Shadow.

Finally, the fox straightened, holding the handle of a red briefcase. Shadow took it in - this was no ordinary child. This was someone burdened, yet unwavering in his resolve.

“Who’s Sonic?” the hedgehog  asked, voice low, careful, seeking truth.

Shadow’s quills prickled. He didn’t care for small talk or unnecessary words, but the boy’s tension pressed against him, a living weight he could not ignore. He didn’t know how to comfort anyone - not Tails, not anyone - but he could observe. He could ask.

“Sonic…?” The fox’s voice dragged the name, a thread of uncertainty woven through it. His body stiffened for a moment before returning to the careful task of unclasping the briefcase.

Shadow’s tone was clipped, precise. “You said he brought me here,” he said, gesturing to himself. His voice was neutral, controlled - just enough to clarify, not to placate. His quills bristled again faintly. This was unfamiliar ground, a careful, deliberate civility that he rarely extended. “That’s all.”

The fox’s eyes flickered up briefly.

“Right. Um… he’s my brother,” the boy said. Sparse. Measured. Shadow noted the caution in his delivery, the careful restraint, the silent warning buried beneath the words. Revealing more could compromise him. He didn’t trust easily - and neither did Shadow.

He didn’t press further. He understood instinct, and he understood caution.

The fox finally opened the briefcase fully, tilting it so Shadow could see.

A first aid kit. Neatly arranged: gauze, bandages, vials of antiseptic, a syringe, scissors. Some small tins of unidentified contents hid between them. Ordinary objects, but to Shadow they carried echoes of precision, of purpose, of a world where each tool could be deadly if misused. The scissors gleamed in the light - small, sharp, precise. Their existence reminded him that even ordinary things could inflict pain.

For a moment, Shadow froze. The room seemed to contract, pressing against him, and shallow breaths left his lungs in sharp, controlled gasps. He felt the familiar tension tighten along his quills, the instinctual readiness to strike, to defend himself. But the fox continued, unaware.

“I’m Tails,” the boy said, voice careful but firmer now. He held the scissors loosely in his gloved hands, small but steady. Shadow didn’t respond, eyes fixed. He didn’t need reassurance. He observed, measured, always alert.

“Is it okay if I redo your bandages?” Tails asked, reading the slight tension in Shadow’s posture.

“Shadow, are you… okay?”

The hedgehog’s pupils constricted, then widened. His knuckles relaxed slightly as he shifted his weight - an imperceptible acknowledgment. He didn’t answer. Words were unnecessary. Shadow’s body conveyed what he allowed: measured trust.

Tails noted the scrutiny. He placed the scissors back into the kit, brushing them carefully, an unspoken signal: harmless. Shadow’s gaze followed each movement, calculating, observing - but he did not flinch.

For Shadow, that was enough.

He glanced up at Shadow again, noting the subtle shift in the hedgehog’s posture - a tension loosening, as if a switch had been quietly flipped. Tails’ voice, quieter this time, barely more than a murmur: “Can I…?” His arm gestured toward Shadow’s shoulder, tentative, a nudge rather than a demand. His hands shook slightly, betraying his nervousness.

The air between them lightened when Tails reached instead for a small jar from the kit. He held it carefully, lifting the lid. Shadow’s nose caught the earthy scent of herbs mingled in a greyish balm - natural, handmade, a healing substance Tails had prepared himself.

He didn’t rush. Patience had to be a requirement, being a younger sibling himself. Tails let Shadow gather his bearings, silent and unpressured. The choice to act - or not - was Shadow’s.

Eventually, Shadow broke the quiet. Not in the way Tails might have expected. “Did you make that?” he asked, voice neutral but curious, a subtle inflection betraying cautious interest.

Tails nodded, a faint spark of excitement in his expression, careful to keep it measured so as not to startle the hedgehog. “I did. Handmade. Main ingredients: tea tree oil, raw honey, and lavender.” He lifted the balm so Shadow could examine it. Then, gently, he pulled at the fringed edge of the bandage on Shadow’s shoulder, eyes focused and attentive, bright blue in the dim light.

Shadow’s lips pressed together, his posture slightly less rigid.

“Man-made, store-bought medicines can irritate Mobian skin,” Tails continued, voice calm but earnest. “So I read a few books, ran some tests on myself, and… perfected a concoction that heals efficiently. Speeds the process by a small margin.” His fingers worked deftly, unpicking the white fabric with a careful precision that suggested both experience and caution.

Shadow observed silently, noting the meticulous movements. His earlier tension didn’t vanish, but the curiosity it sparked kept him watching.

“But why? You’re no doctor,” he said finally, voice low, even.

Tails paused mid-motion, giving a sheepish smile. His hands trembled slightly as he continued, but his words flowed easily now, deliberate and heartfelt. “Nope. You’re right.” He shrugged, finally finished with the bandage. “But I fix things. That’s what I do. Always have. This… isn’t that different.”

He exhaled softly, then added, voice tinged with quiet frustration, “Sonic… he’s always getting hurt. From the day I met him to the last twenty-four hours, he somehow manages to break himself. I’ve patched him up more times than I can count. That’s why I made this balm.” His eyes flicked to the tin, then back to Shadow, his expression serious, almost solemn. Shadow recognized the pattern: Tails fixates on those who are constantly in need - Sonic, and, silently, Maria. The ones who always needed care.

“I know it might sound silly,” Tails said, quietly, dabbing some balm onto his finger. “But I’ve always felt like I had to know everything about everything. Even if I didn’t know where to start. I just… wanted to help. Any way I could.” No pride, just the matter-of-fact truth of it.

Shadow said nothing, yet his gaze softened. He watched the younger fox, studying the subtle signs: the careful precision, the slight tremor in his hands, the earnestness in his voice. A drive to help, to contribute, to take responsibility for others. Something he recognized - something he respected.

And, for a fleeting moment, he remembered:

“She has neuro-immune deficiency syndrome.” the final puzzle piece to the riddle slotted into the gap. “Maria is…Sick, Shadow. Very, very sick.” He quickly realised why a child like herself - a sweet, golden girl - was locked in space. Poor Maria trapped with someone like him. 

“I’m afraid only the gravitational force of the Ark alleviates the burden of her symptoms.” He watched as Dr Robotnik tucked a blanket under her chin. 

“Isn’t there a way to treat her?”  he asked anyway. He wanted confirmation of the answer that he sensed. 

“Unfortunately, no.”  The doctor then turned and sat on the chair opposite Shadows. “But, that’s why I have you.” 

“Me?”  Shadow palmed his chest.

“I’m hoping you're the key to finding the cure.” He nodded smiling, like it amused Gerald that Shadow was disbelieved.

“Do you know why I created you, Shadow?” He randomly asked after.

Shadow didn’t respond as the doctor continued: “Not for gain, for power, for control, for credit or fame. I’m more interested in bigger things…but at the end of the day, also for a selfish reason.”  He looked at Maria sleeping and rested his hand on her knees over the blanket.

“Your genetic foundation, Shadow, goes beyond that of human comprehension. It’s been, hmm, almost two decades and we’ve yet to decode it completely. Your core component is of a Mobian, but you have also been synthesised with the addition of a relic from a planet far far away. From a tiny fragment of a tiny green emerald.”  He shimmied his fingers. “You have capabilities of tremendous energy. Your surgical wounds scab over and heal within hours, your broken bonds mend within days. Have you noticed?”  Shadow reluctantly nods. 

“I believe you have the answers. To not only Maria’s conundrum, but the world’s. Shadow, you have the elixir somewhere…hidden in there.” The doctor's gloved finger taps the white fur on his chest. “And…I apologise because the process of bringing it out will be taxing. It’ll be hard. But, my granddaughter is everything and all I have. Her life depends on this.” 

But Shadow doesn’t pale. He doesn’t withdraw or cringe. He only says: “I understand, Dr Gerald.” 

“You…do?”  The doctor seems taken aback, but it's true. 

“I do.”  He whispers, gazing at Maria now. 

Suddenly, Shadow jerked and hissed.

“Cold?” Tails asked, voice quiet, almost knowing.

“Yeah,” Shadow huffed, a brief puff of air that carried both acknowledgment and annoyance.

“It’ll warm up soon, but it shouldn’t sting. If it does, tell me immediately.” The hedgehog gave a small nod, silent agreement.

Shadow watched Tails work, precise and deliberate, undoing the next bandage. Despite the unusual unease, he felt it - an unfamiliar weight of care settling over him. It wasn’t pity, not the kind he hated from everyone else. Not patronizing, not condescending. This was genuine, deliberate, purposeful. The balm, the methodical attention, came from a desire to help, pure and uncomplicated. That, he decided, was worth trusting this small Mobian for.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice softer than usual, foreign even to himself. The words felt strange on his tongue, tinged with calm and quiet relief. “You didn’t have to.”

The dizziness in his head pressed heavier, yet the act of letting pride fall away didn’t feel wrong. For the first time in a long while, he realized that gratitude - offered freely, without expectation - could feel…right.

He had never thanked anyone. Not truly. Not like this. Not since Maria - the one constant in a sky of invisible stars, golden light in his darkened world. Yet he felt it necessary now, and as the words left him, the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

Tails paused, smoothing the fresh bandage over Shadow’s arm. He shook his head with a grin, silent honesty radiating from him, calm and unassuming. Shadow, accustomed to being in control, to dictating every stitch, every method of recovery, felt a strange warmth at being cared for. Someone else tending him - even someone so small, so inexperienced - was enough.

“No problem,” Tails said softly. “I’m glad I was the one to do it. We all need someone to look out for us, right?”

Shadow hummed, eyes drifting to the door. His sigh was not of burden or frustration - it was a measured release, a cool exhale that tempered the simmering heat of his blood.

“I guess…” His gaze caught the figure stepping into the room. Tails’ smile faltered slightly as Shadow’s attention fixed on the newcomer.

“We do all need someone, after all,” he finished, voice low, almost reluctant in admission.

“...Hmm. Yeah. I think so too,” Tails whispered, quiet as a leaf in a storm, the words fragile and almost lost in the room’s tension. He set the first aid kit neatly under the bed, his task complete.

But Shadow didn’t watch the fox. His gaze lingered, drawn to the new figure he couldn’t yet place. Bloodshot eyes fixed on the striking jade green of their irises, alert and wary, curiosity and caution intertwined.

Chapter Text

For many reasons, Tails didn’t need to say anything for Shadow to know that this person was the target of his affection. The trouble causing enigma of the familial household. 

Shadow secretly studied him as his eyes blazed over all of him and more. The way his lips itched to quiver up into an easy grin, how his legs swaggered loosely as he walked. The posture of his quills dangling down his back, and curving outwards. Flaring untamed and littered by a single leaf stuck behind his ear. An unintentional clip that somehow, just worked. 

And he wasn’t sure why his eyes lingered on Sonic for so long. They just did as he took in the blue of his fur. The azure spikes that he scratched at and then to the bitten apple, in his right palm. It was like an invisible force had tethered his focus. And seeing the watercolour of his eyes scathe down his mind - before fading, as they pranced to Tails, Shadow tilted his head.

“Nice run?” Tails asked, weakly smiling in his tiredness as he pranced over to his brother. “I see you brought something back with yourself, too.” He found it amusing, and Shadow couldn’t fault him when Sonic started spinning around and looking under his feet.

“Bring back what? This?” He chomped another crevice into the apple and held it out. His words slightly hushed with his mouth lathered in sweetness.“ Oh -  damn. Sorry, I didn’t grab you one..” he quickly apologised, but Tails quickly shook his head grinning and rose onto his tiptoes. 

“Not that.” He plucked the leaf that was hoisted deeply into Sonic’s back and flickered it across his eyes. “This. Make sure to comb yourself through next time. I don’t think dad would appreciate a happy trail of the woods in our living room.” He chuckled as Sonic’s eyebrows scrunched and shot to his forehead in a split second.

“Yeah, yeah -  it slipped my mind.” Sonic swiped at his quills, flopping them back into place when his fingers came away empty. 

Shadow still hadn’t been noticed.

He thought, maybe, he wasn’t quite ready to be.

“Our guest is awake.” Never mind.

In the middle of kicking off his old-worn shoes, Sonic tossed the browning core of the apple into the bin by the door and turned. 

Shifting, the blue hedgehog took a step forward with a grin too wide. A little too quickly thrown on, like he was prepared for this moment. And slowly as they examined each other in silence, Shadow didn’t look away for a glimpse of a second. 

A hedgehog - he was also a hedgehog. Shadow had never seen someone so close in resemblance to him. From head to toe the exact same minus the minor details.

A peach fuzzed chest with blue encompassing the rest of him. Limp quills, a slightly taller build, and just as limber as himself. 

He had never seen someone quite like this - something, however, was oddly different. Off, but not in a way that felt bad, just… weird. An energy surrounding the stranger, buzzing invisibly in a waved cage around him. Green in light - strong and beneath the surface. And the more Shadow looked, the more the force of that brightness tugged at him.

Shadow’s eyes for chaos caught the scent of power. A medication that branded him with the infamous name of the ultimate lifeform. And as his muscles tensed, he couldn’t move. Seeing the highlighted bridges beneath the hedgehog's skin blazing alight in that same tone that wrapped him up.

Was he a product of the same injections that Shadow was built on? 

He didn’t know how he felt it, he just did as he was pulled towards Sonic by an unsensed line. Towards something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. 

Flared, his instinct set him on edge. Uncanny valley - it was like looking into a broken mirror of untamable strength. Power that shouldn’t be in the hands of a mortal like Sonic, and as he sat frozen, he still couldn’t look away. There was no reason or logical explanation - just a subtle, undeniable force. 

“You had us worried, sleepyhead.” Sonic chuckled, his eyes squinted. “You were a mess. Looks like Mum and Tails did a bang-up job fixin’ you, though.”

Shadow didn’t respond at first.

The words Sonic had spoken - light, teasing - floated in the air like smoke. The blue hedgehog’s voice had a casual curl to it, the same way wind might curl around the edge of a mountain. Effortless. Alive. It stirred something in the room, disturbed the stillness Shadow had wrapped himself in like a second skin.

In the pause that followed, Sonic’s grin remained, but there was something behind it. A flicker of awareness. Maybe he sensed the weight in the silence. Or maybe he just knew how to read a room, even when the air inside it had turned electric.

He stepped closer.

“You’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost.” Sonic said, not mocking, not even surprised. Just…curious, like he wanted to be right as the floor creaked beneath his footfall. The sound was soft - just another piece of the rhythm Sonic probably carried with him as the world bent itself to his tempo. And leaning just a tad bit forward, tossing a look over his shoulder at Tail’s like he wasn’t sure whether he was truly seeing Shadow - Sonic waited.

And shadow watched him. He watched the way he moved, and even the slight twitch in his fingers still sticky from the apple. 

He said: “And, you are?” before he could stop himself.

Sonic blinked once. Slowly. The grin on his face didn’t fade, but it softened as if he recognised the question for what it truly was. Not just words. Not suspicion. But, a genuine search. 

He tilted his head a little, then said, “Sonic.”

“That’s…Sonic.” Tails echoed, small and bright.

As if that were supposed to be enough. As if that name explained the gravity in the air, the strange hum of something vast and pulsing beneath his skin. As if it justified the fact that Shadow could feel the presence of Chaos on him - not around him, but inside. Threaded through his bones. Embedded deep in the pathways of his body.

It wasn’t the same as what lived in Shadow. No. His power was clinical, deliberate. Sculpted by needles and science, fused into him like a loaded weapon.

Sonic’s was… natural. If that word even applied. Wild. Untamed. Uncontrolled. But ancient, in a way Shadow didn’t understand. And it radiated off him like heat.

“You’re different,” Shadow said. “There’s something in you,” he said, almost under his breath. “Something I’ve only ever seen in myself.”

Sonic didn’t flinch. He only raised one brow, that little smirk twitching back onto his face. “Yeah,” he replied. “I get that a lot.”

But then slightly he tilted his head like he just finally processed the rest of what Shadow said. “Hey - is that a good thing or a bad thing?” His smile twitched, curious rather than defensive.

And maybe that was the strangest part of all - he didn’t seem fazed by it. Not the weight of his own energy, not the unease rippling just beneath Shadow’s surface. Sonic looked at him like he was used to this. Like being inexplicable was just another part of his day.

They remained there in silence, the space between them humming like a plucked string. Sonic’s eyes were still on him - blue, clear, but not empty. There was something behind them. Something old. Something fast.

Shadow felt his muscles tighten again, his instincts lighting up in quiet alarm. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

There was no threat. Not exactly.

Just tension. The kind you feel before a storm. The kind you feel when you realize the thing standing across from you might be a reflection - but the kind of reflection that moves when you don’t.

He wasn’t afraid. Not really, but he was intrigued.

And the pull toward Sonic wasn’t going away. If anything, it was getting stronger.

Still, he said nothing else. He just watched.

And Sonic - well, Sonic turned halfway toward the window, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back against a dresser with a breathy exhale.

“You’ve got a weird look in your eye,” he said over his shoulder. “Not sure if you’re sore at the world or just about to start a fight.”

Shadow’s mouth twitched. Barely. “Neither.”

“Sure looks like a battle-face to me.” Sonic laughed under his breath. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The moment stretched, delicate and sharp. Not hostile. Not warm.

Just… suspended.

“So, what’s your name stranger?” 

“What’s your name stranger?” 

Shadow resisted his every urge to flinch and bite with more venom than he had wanted to. “Shadow.”

“A little bit on the nose, don’t ya think?” 

“Sonic!” Tail’s voice cracked as he bodily cut in between them. His three prominent tails fluffied like an angered cats. “Don’t be rude.” 

But, Sonic only chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. “What? I’m…just saying it’s not everyday you meet someone named after a weather forecast.” 

Shadow narrowed his eyes, but before he could form a comeback that would undoubtedly push the room into sharper edges, the door creaked open in front of them. A heavy footstep sounded. Boots against wood.

Both Sonic and Tails turned just slightly, but Shadow didn't need to. He could feel the energy shift the moment the new presence entered. It was grounded, solid. Like a weight being added to the floor.

“Knuckles.” A red echidna stepped into the room, his tall silhouette outlined against the hallway light, casting an angular shadow across the floorboards. His eyes immediately landed on Shadow - hard, appraising, and unreadable. But it wasn't the kind of unreadable that comes from indifference. No, it was the sort that came from calculation.

Knuckles didn’t speak right away. His arms remained folded, dreadlocks swaying slightly with his movement as he stepped further in. Every muscle in his frame, tight with suspicion.

“Knuckles, can we do this later?” Tail’s tried to call on the echidna again to no avail, but didn’t step forward to stop him.

“I’m afraid not, Fox.” Knuckles said curtly as he shook his head and refused to look away from Shadow. And to Shadow's surprise after the very small interaction with the hedgehog, Sonic stiffened. It was the kind of reaction only Tails noticed right away - a near-imperceptible flick of tension across the shoulders. Barely there, but for someone who had known him all his life, it screamed volumes.

Shadow, too, noticed it. The brief shift in Sonic’s posture. The way his fingers flexed and then relaxed. As if he was bracing for a repeat of something he didn’t want to relive. 

“You look familiar,” Knuckles said, voice low and even, though the threat was clear beneath it.

“I don’t,” Shadow returned, catching the flicker of chaos energy thrumming just beneath Knuckles' skin. Subtle - but potent. This one would fight. He could see that plain as day. He’d fight hard. Whether it was to protect, or to destroy - that, Shadow couldn’t yet tell.

“You’re Chaos-charged,” Knuckles said plainly. “And you’re standing in my house without a reason.”

“Something like that,” Shadow muttered as he puzzled together the echidna trying to intimidate him. 

Knuckles ignored that. “So I’ll ask again - what are you doing here?”

“He’s standing in our house,” Sonic cut in suddenly, his voice sharp enough to turn heads. Surprising the room with the boast volume. 

Knuckles turned to him slowly, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. “I see you’ve made yourself judge and jury again.”

Sonic’s jaw tightened, and this time, Tails did step forward.

“Really? You’re gonna do this, now?” he said under his breath, somewhere between pleading and warning.

But Knuckles’ attention was no longer on Shadow. It had shifted fully to Sonic now - and Sonic, in return, was avoiding the direct eye contact he’d offered everyone else with such ease. His gaze had dropped to the floorboards, one foot angled outward like he was thinking of sprinting, even if just metaphorically.

Something had happened between them. Shadow could feel it like a ripple underfoot. New. Sharp. Still bleeding.

Shadow observed the space between them now - two people who were once tethered and now frayed at the seams. He didn't know the history, but it was carved in their postures, in the weight of the silence that followed.

“The real question is why have you found yourself here.” he dismissed the others in favour of looking back to Shadow quickly. 

Shadow’s eyes flashed. “I don’t see how that’s your concern.”

Knuckles didn’t flinch. “It becomes my concern if someone like you walks into my home uninvited. Especially when I’ve got people here to protect.”

Shadow held his ground, eyes locked. “If it helps, I didn’t exactly walk in. I stumbled across your ‘family’ by accident. And I’ve got no plans to stick around. Not to hurt. Not to steal. Not for anything.”

The final word dropped like a stone.

“I already told you, Knuckles.” with all the courage he could gather, Sonic looked up and met Knuckle’s gaze. “He was nearly dead when I found him…he’s not even here by choice, I brought him back. And I doubt he even knows what you’re trying to imply with all this hurting and stealing talk. Give the guy a break, damn.”

“You’re naive to believe someone based off of a poorly assembled act.” Knuckles shot back, a sigh on his lips. “Why would someone as strong as him be wandering a place like Green Hills if it wasn’t for the Master Em-” He paused to side glance Shadow. 

“I landed here when I came to earth, too, didn’t I?” Sonic swallowed his pride down in favour of defending Shadow. And Shadow watched in utter confusion as to why the hedgehog would take his side not knowing him. 

“No matter, I want him gone before tomorrow's sunrise. Period, end of discussion. I cannot trust him.” he faltered, then turned tail and left the room. 

And even as the tension started to settle, it lingered in the room like a storm that had only just passed - or hadn’t hit yet.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace. It was a delay.

And Shadow quickly learned that he hadn’t needed to make a bad impression for someone to already loathe him. 

After Knuckles left, Shadow was happy to comply. Joyful even. 

He never meant to end up here in the first place. And he had no intention of sticking around, or prying into the fractured mess of this family dynamic. Maria was waiting for him. 

“It’s not a good idea to put pressure on your-” The warning was drowned under his own ragged breaths as he shoved the blanket aside. His feet searched for the ground, claws brushing the threadbare fabric until they slipped free. 

The floorboards met him with a shock of cold that bit up through his bones. They creaked under his weight, loud enough to betray him, and Shadow cursed himself for the noise.

Weak.

His ankle screamed in protest, a reminder etched deep into his flesh - the net that had burned through his skin like molten steel, the bullet that had carved a tunnel through his shoulder. Every step was a blade, twisting.

“Shadow.” That voice again - Sonic. The sulk that had been plastered on his face earlier was gone, replaced by a look Shadow hated more - searching.

Shadow gritted his teeth, pressing a trembling palm against the wooden edge of the bed to steady himself. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to be told, to be scolded, not by him. He didn’t even know the guy. He shot a glare at the blue blur from the corner of his blurring vision, venom sliding down his spine as his knees buckled beneath him.

Fragile. That was what this was. Fragile meant useless. Fragile meant not good enough. Fragile meant Maria was still frozen, still alone, still asleep in the dark.

“You’ll tear your wounds open like that.” 

God - he doesn’t shut. up.

Shadow caught a glimpse of Sonic leaning in the doorway, arms folded across the peach fuzz on his chest. His green eyes burned steady, unreadable, while his quills shimmered faintly under the lamp’s golden light, glinting like sharpened glass.

“Tch. Thats…” Shadow’s breath came shallow, sharp, betraying him as he struggled to keep upright. “None of your concern.” His teeth ground together against the ache that reverberated through every bone.

“Maybe not.” Sonic shrugged easily, though his voice carried an undertone Shadow couldn’t ignore. “But if you faceplant, I’m the one who’s gotta scrape you off the floor. And believe me - cleaning’s not really my style.”

He should have been furious at the mockery. Should have snapped back. But beneath the words was something worse than disdain - pity.

He hated it. 

“Save it for someone who cares.” He forced himself upright, every muscle shrieking in revolt.  “I don’t need anything from you.”  His voice was iron even as his body trembled.

“Didn’t say you did, tough guy. Just… maybe don’t bleed out on my rug, yeah?” Sonic tilted his head, studying the wobbling figure dragging himself toward the door. “Why do you insist on leaving, though?”

Shadow’s glare flicked toward him as he forced one step, then another. “I’m doing the echidna a favour,” he muttered. A lie - one even he couldn’t make sound convincing.

Sonic’s brow twitched. “Yeah. That’s not true.”

The room went still. Heavy.

The silence pressed down, heavy as stone. Shadow’s claws flexed against his palms, quills prickling, because he knew - he couldn’t take another step. His thighs trembled with the effort, his body threatening to collapse. He wanted so badly to vanish, to dissolve into the dark where no one could follow. To chase the faint whisper of Maria’s voice that called to him from memory.

But his body betrayed him. His arms quaked. His legs buckled. His vision swam.

He hated it.

And still, Sonic stood there. Not stopping him. Not helping. Just watching - holding him in place with an unyielding stare.

At his side, Tails fidgeted, eyes wide, tail twitching. He was held in check only by Sonic’s steady hand on his shoulder, a wordless anchor.

“Let yourself rest, Shadow.”

The words should have slid off him. Should have been meaningless. But for some reason… wetness blurred his vision. His chest tightened.

Because he couldn’t let himself.

He turned so they wouldn’t see. 

And when sunrise came, it brought Knuckles. 

Shadow had half-expected it, but he still felt the sting of humiliation when he discovered he’d been living under the same roof as two human adults the entire time, too weak to notice.

“My house, my rules, Knuckles.” The woman puffed, hands planted firmly on her hips.“What I and your father say goes. Shadow is welcome to stay as long as he wants.”

“But-!” The echidna’s protest boomed through the walls, loud enough to rattle the windows.

“No.” Her tone cut sharper than any blade. “Our decision is final. And if I hear you’ve been giving the poor boy a hard time, you’ll find yourself grounded from your patrols. Are you ready to wave goodbye to those?”

That’d shut the echidna up straight away. 

“Yes…Mother.” Knuckles muttered, his pride splintering under the weight of her glare. But not without sparing Shadow a poisonous look when her back was turned.

And Sonic had never left. Not once. He stayed rooted by Shadow’s side, watching. Waiting. Shadow couldn’t decide how he felt about that - or about the echidna now planted permanently in the corner, arms crossed, his presence a constant reminder of suspicion

This was how the conversation began.

“So you're a chaos user…but you can’t use chaos?” Sonic rubbed the back of his head, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and disbelief.

Shadows quills bristled as he snarked: “I never said I can’t. I said I won’t waste it here.” His words snapped out sharp, though his voice faltered as he tried to drag the blanket higher around his shoulders.

Sonic leaned back on his beanbag, lips curling into a smirk. “Sounds a lot like ‘can’t’ to me.”

Tails, who’d been quietly tinkering with some scrap metal at the table, glanced up nervously. His eyes darted between the two of them, the air thick with the tension of a fight that hadn’t yet started. Knuckles sat further off, arms folded, sulking in silence - but his ears were pricked, listening.

Shadow ignored the bait. Outwardly, he stayed cold. Inwardly, the words cut deep. Chaos wasn’t just power to him - it was Maria. It was the thread that still tied him to her, the only weapon he had to save her. And right now, it was slipping. The net and the bullets, they’d torn holes in his control. His own energy bucked and writhed under his skin, chaotic in truth as much as name.

Without it… how would he ever reach the Ark again?

“You don’t know shit.” His voice came low, bitter.

“So-” Sonic started when: “Language!” Knuckles hissed in the background. “There's a foxling.”

“Knucklesssss!” Tails moaned in embarrassment. 

“- try me.” Sonic said it without hesitation. Not a challenge, not mockery this time - just a simple invitation. And Shadow froze, caught off guard. 

No one ever asked to understand him. No one wanted to.

“I won’t entertain you.” He scoffed, trying to mask his unease.

“Oh, c'mon! Now I have to know.” Sonic leaned forward, grin widening.

“Too bad.” 

But then it happened.

As Sonic grumbled under his breath after his loss, Shadow felt the emerald colour beneath his skin enlarge. He saw it expand and shrink in the split second of an eye like a flame that’d been quickly blown out when it got too big to handle. 

But it wasn’t his.

He saw it flicker and dampen within Sonic, and it left him with envy. Crippling jealousy as his breath caught. His eyes darted to Sonic, who was still sulking into his beanbag, completely unaware. The afterglow shimmered faintly across the blue hedgehog’s fur - a resonance, raw and unrefined, like a storm bottled inside a child. 

“You have no idea what you’re carrying.” It slipped out before Shadow could catch it. 

“My superior good looks?” Sonic blinked, all teeth and confused. 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Knuckles’ attention sharpened instantly “That surge wasn't mine. It came from you.”

The room shifted. Tails froze mid-fidget, ears flattening. Even Knuckles straightened, his sulk dissolving into suspicion as his crimson eyes locked onto Sonic.

Shadow pretended not to notice.

Sonic only squinted “Eh?” 

Shadow didn’t respond immediately. He just kept staring, searching for the pulse again, for the echo he knew he hadn’t imagined. It left him unsettled - because if Sonic really didn’t know, then the truth was far more dangerous.

Because that wasn’t just chaos energy. It was a fragment of something much bigger. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist here.

“I’d stop prying, hedgehog.” The bass in Knuckles’ voice split the silence, sharp and heavy, cutting across the room like the crack of stone splitting under pressure.

Shadow’s eyes shifted to him, steady and unflinching.

“Why?” he asked, voice calm but edged. “Afraid I’ll find something you don’t want me to?”

His tone was measured, almost conversational, yet his gaze stayed locked - cool and assessing - as it followed the tight coil of muscle in Knuckles’ shoulders.

“There is nothing to be found.” The words were steady, but his fists betrayed him - balled so tightly that the tips of his claws pressed crescents into his palms.

Shadow’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re deflecting. Lying.”

The air thickened like storm clouds gathering. Even Tails felt it - his small hands stilled on the scrap metal in his lap, his chest rising faster as his golden eyes darted between them.

Sonic, though, laughed - too quickly, too lightly. He rubbed the back of his head, trying to dispel the weight pressing down on the room. “Whoa, whoa. Lying? Really? Knuckles? No chance. He’s way too uptight for that. Guy practically bleeds honesty. Like, painfully so.”

But the smirk didn’t touch Shadow’s expression. He was dissecting Knuckles’ silence, the twitch of his jaw, the fleeting guilt in amethyst eyes that turned sharply away.

“You’ve felt it too.” Shadow’s voice dropped low, dark as tar. It wasn’t a question.

Knuckles’ shoulders tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

Shadow’s quills bristled. “That energy inside him - it’s volatile,” His chin tilted, pointing to Sonic without breaking his stare. “You think it won’t matter when it tears him apart?”

Sonic blinked, thrown. His grin faltered, an edge of unease creeping into his voice. “Uh, hello? Sitting right here. Not ripping apart. Totally intact.” He could almost see the weight of ancient memory pressing on the echidna, the kind passed down like stone tablets - heavy, secret, damning.

And the silence confirmed it.

Shadow hissed through his teeth, every quill bristling. “So you do know.”

Knuckles didn’t answer, but the twitch in his jaw was enough.

Shadow’s voice was almost a whisper, a knife drawn slow. “Does he?”

Tails’ head snapped up, eyes wide, the half-built gadget in his hands clattering to the floor. 

“He knows enough.” Knuckle’s voice cracked, shaky, as he glanced at Tails. “And if you’re smart, you’ll watch what you say next.” he turned back to Shadow. 

“What does that mean, Knucks?” Tails pressed now, panic edging in.

“Nothing!” Knuckles snapped. His voice was too loud, too sharp. His eyes flashed violet for a heartbeat, unnatural, before he forced them away.

“Uh… that doesn’t sound like nothing,” Sonic muttered, his ears flicking back as he stood up, laughter gone. His voice wavered.

“I see.” Shadow’s tone was cool, detached, but his eyes burned with triumph.“ So he doesn’t.”

That was all it took. The dam broke.

“Quiet!” Knuckles’ voice thundered, rattling the air like a physical blow. His fists slammed together with a crack that echoed through the room. For a moment, his silhouette seemed to warp in the lamplight, his outline jagged, eyes burning with a flash of unnatural purple. The walls themselves seemed to vibrate with the force of his fury.

“You think you know him?” Knuckles snarled, stepping forward, shoulders squared, every muscle coiled like a spring. “You’ve been here maybe a day and you act like you can read what this is. You don’t know what it does!”

Shadow didn’t flinch. His quills bristled, eyes gleaming faintly crimson. “I know what it is,” he said flatly. “ I know enough to see it’s killing him.”

The words hit like a blade.

Sonic froze. Tails’ breath caught. But Knuckles… Knuckles roared. “Shut your mouth!”

He lunged, his fist slamming into the bedframe inches from Shadow’s chest. Wood splintered, shards flying as the entire room rattled with the impact. The beanbag toppled, Tails scrambled back, but Shadow didn’t even blink. His expression stayed sharp, cold, unyielding.

“You can hide the truth from him,” Shadow said evenly, “but you can’t hide it from me. That light in him isn’t stable. It’s devouring him. Piece by piece.” 

Sonic’s chest tightened. He staggered back a step.

Knuckles’ breathing was heavy, his fists trembling against the floor. His glare was molten, but beneath it was something else - fear. A fear so old it felt carved into his blood.

“I’ve handled chaos longer than you’ve been breathing,” Shadow glared back. “Detecting stuff like that isn’t -”

“You don’t understand,” Knuckles said through gritted teeth as he leaned in threateningly. 

Silence fell like a guillotine.

“But I do.” Shadow’s voice cut through the hush, sharper than glass. Sonic looked between them, mouth opening and closing with no sound. Tails’ eyes filled; panic curled at the edge of his voice.

And Shadow… Shadows' eyes burned bright. “And I can help.” he swallowed something that looked like memory - Maria’s smile, the way she’d whispered even as she faded - then shoved it down where it couldn’t be seen. “For a price.” 

Knuckles’ head snapped toward him. Fury burned hotter than fire, but it was brittle, cracking at the edges “You want to bargain with me? While he - while my brother -”

His voice was flat, raw. And, he still wouldn’t look at Sonic. 

Shadow’s chest tightened. He’d rehearsed this a thousand times in the dark and none of it got easier. “I have no obligation to you,” he said softly, merciless. “But there is someone who could use your help on my side.”

Sonic’s voice came out a raw, desperate plea. “Tell me he’s lying. Please.” His face was open and broken in a way that made Knuckles flinch inward.

He’d turned the thought over for hours. Contemplated, dissected a plan that had festered in the corners of his mind until it became the only move left to him on the board. Wrong. Manipulative. Evil, even, but necessary. His fingers curled against the mattress, as if clutching the weight of the sin before he’d even spoken it aloud.

Sonic turned to him, eyes wide, searching their faces - Tails’ trembling panic, Knuckles’ grim silence, Shadow’s unflinching glare.

And Knuckles cringed as he shut his eyes, shame carved into every line of his face. He couldn’t.

“I promise, I’ll fix him.” Shadow swore, ignoring Sonic’s pleading tone, ignoring Tails’ shaking, his crimson eyes locked only on Knuckles. “ I can. But I require something in return.” He was the only one he needed on his side for this to work. 

Knuckles’ reaction was a sound between a snarl and a sob. “You think you can use him as leverage? Blackmail me while my brother - ” His hands clenched until the knuckles showed white. The room tilted with the weight of what he didn’t say.

“You and I both know what happens if that chaos isn’t removed,” Shadow said. He didn’t flinch from the look in Knuckles’ face - the shame, the helplessness, the memory of whatever had been lost between them. How his breath hitched, his whole body trembling as though held together by sheer stubborn will. He looked at Sonic then, just for a heartbeat. The look in his eyes there was unbearable. 

“You can feel it,” Shadow pressed, quieter now, surgical. His voice, cutting through the room like glass for Sonic to hear. “The slips. The sparks. The times you can’t hold it down.”

Knuckles’ roar ripped the silence apart. In one violent motion, his hand tangled into Shadow’s mane, claws pressing tight against his scalp, and he dragged him up from the mattress with terrifying strength. “Don’t put things in his head!” he seethed, spit flying with the force of it.

“That light is corrosion,” Shadow said, teeth bared. Even under Knuckles’ grip his voice didn’t break. “Better he hears it from me than when it’s too late.” he bit back a groan as his wounds stretched under the pressure on his skull.

“I won’t let you use him.” Knuckles shoved Shadow back, fists still trembling. “If you try to use him - I’ll bury you.” The vow was low and raw; it was not a threat as much as the last line he could give.

“Then don’t give me cause,” Shadow said, unmoved.

The room exhaled. Sonic’s breaths came ragged and uneven; his hands shook at his sides. Tails hovered between them, torn, wanting to reach and terrified to touch.

“You’ll fix this?” Knuckles asked finally, the certainty gone from his voice.

“I can,” Shadow answered, iron in the tone - and an honest, private doubt gnawing under the surface. “But you must do your part.”

Knuckles searched Shadow’s face for a lie, for weakness. Found none.

“What do you want?” he spat, cautious like a wound-licked animal.

Shadow’s eyes glimmered, faint red reflecting in the lamp. “Access.” He said it plainly. “To the Ark. To the cryostasis wing.”

Knuckles’ eyes narrowed, his face tightening into a scowl. “I don’t even know what the hell that is.” The words came out fast, too sharp - a reflex more than a denial.

Before Shadow could answer, another voice cut through the tension.

“I do.”

Every head turned.

Tails stood by his cluttered workbench, metal parts and tools strewn at his feet, forgotten. His small hands gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles blanched, but his stance didn’t waver. Amber eyes, wide but unflinching, met theirs. His twin tails flicked behind him - restless, nervous, but resolute.

The silence that followed could’ve swallowed the whole room.

Shadow turned first. His crimson eyes cut across the dim light, fixing on Tails with a weight that made the air thicken. “You do?” His voice wasn’t mocking - just quiet, curious. Dangerous. 

He studied the fox in silence for a moment. Tails was clever  -  Shadow had seen it in his steady hands, the precision in how he built, how he mended. But this… this was different. Knowing about the Ark -  before it was ever meant to exist in his world -  that shouldn’t have been possible.

Tails swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah.” He didn’t look away. “I’ve… heard of it.”

Knuckles shot him a look, half warning, half disbelief. “From where?”

Tails hesitated - only for a heartbeat, but Shadow caught it. He always caught hesitation.

“That’s not important,” the fox said quickly, too quickly. His voice trembled on the edge of conviction. “What matters is that it exists. The cryostasis wing - it’s real, isn’t it?”

Shadow’s silence was the kind that spoke volumes. Slowly, he sat forward in his bed. Each movement deliberate, heavy with thought. “You’ve seen it.” It wasn’t a question. But - how? 

Tails’ breath hitched. “Not - not directly.” His gaze dropped to his shoes, then flicked back up, desperate to hold Shadow’s stare. “But I’ve seen the data. Fragments of it. Old files. They were… sealed. Like they didn’t want anyone to know.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. The faint hum of chaos energy stirred in the air - not enough to be threatening, but enough that the light seemed to bend faintly around him. Sonic - Shadow briefly looked. “You’re not old enough to have found that by accident.”

Tails’ twin tails flicked once, nervously. “No,” he admitted, voice small. “It wasn’t an accident.”

Knuckles frowned, confused. “Then how -”

Shadow raised a hand, silencing him without looking away from Tails. “Let him speak.”

The weight of his attention pressed down like gravity. It wasn’t the kind of focus you could hide under. It pulled truth out of you.

Tails inhaled shakily, his fingers flexing on the bench. “I thought it was just a research facility. Somewhere remote. Classified. I didn’t know what they’d done there… what you were a part of, or that it was even in space! Not until -” He stopped himself, lips pressing tight.

Until you.

Shadow tilted his head slightly, studying him the way a soldier studies a battlefield. “And yet you know enough to believe me.”

“I’ve seen the cryo schematics, the blueprints,” Tails said, voice steadier now, though his eyes glistened. “And the biological archives. Someone - something -was being preserved. Dozens of entries, but… one was locked under a separate encryption.” He hesitated. “Codename: Gerald.” 

For a moment, Shadow didn’t move. The stillness in him became absolute, like time had stopped obeying him. His gaze sharpened, distant and haunted all at once.

Tails’ tails flicked again, a nervous tic betraying the tremor in his jaw. “I didn’t mean to dig into it. I just wanted to understand - what kind of project it was. But the deeper I looked, the more things didn’t add up.” His breath came faster, chest rising and falling. “And then the logs mentioned something about the ARK being shut down, and….”

When Tails trailed off, Shadow finished for him, the single word unspoken between them like a blade. The name hung, and both of them felt its weight.

Sonic’s head snapped up, confusion and brittle disbelief flaring. Tails didn’t meet him; he kept his eyes locked on Shadow, guilt and resolve flickering together on his face.

“It’s supposed to be gone,” Tails whispered cryptic. “They said it was - terminated.”

Shadow’s expression barely changed, but the silence afterward carried a kind of sorrow too sharp to touch. “They said a lot of things.”

The room felt smaller somehow, pressed in by the weight of what none of them understood yet.

Tails swallowed hard, then said softly, “If what’s happening to Sonic is tied to what they built back then… then I think I can help you find it.”

Shadow’s head tilted, the faintest glint of recognition in his eyes - or maybe warning. “You’d lead me to them?”

“No.” Tails shook his head quickly. “I’d lead you to the solution.”

That, at least, made Shadow pause. For the first time, the hard edge in his eyes flickered. He looked at the small fox before him - scared, determined, clever - and saw something he didn’t expect: the same defiance Maria had once carried when facing things she couldn’t control.

“…Very well,” he said at last. “Show me what you found.”

Knuckles stepped forward, voice rough with fear and authority. “Tails -  what are you getting into?”

“Don’t.” Shadow cut across him, the word sharp as a blade. His crimson eyes gleamed, unforgiving. “You asked if I’d fix him. This is the price.”

Knuckles’ face crumpled, desperation breaking through the anger. “Stay out of this,” he snapped, pleading against the thing he couldn’t stop.

Tails squared his shoulders, tiny but immovable. Whatever the cost, he’d chosen a side - and the choice had shifted the room.

Knuckles’ fists trembled at his sides, veins standing out against his fur. “You shouldn’t have been digging there.”

Tails’ reply came too fast, too raw. “And you shouldn’t have been lying to us - but you did.” His voice cracked like static, sharper than he meant, and his twin tails lashed behind him in agitation.

Sonic staggered back, a hand pressed to his head as if he could force the chaos inside him to quiet. “This is - hurting my head,” he gasped, voice breaking with confusion and fear.

Shadow didn’t so much as glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on Knuckles, gleaming like cut glass in the low light. “Now you understand my price,” he said evenly. “You want your brother alive? Then you’ll get me into the Ark. Into the cryostasis wing.”

Knuckles’ glare could’ve shattered stone. His jaw tightened, every muscle trembling under the weight of fury and helplessness. But Sonic’s labored breathing filled the silence - shallow, uneven, each inhale sounding more like a plea than a breath.

The sound broke something in him.

“If this is a trick, Shadow…” Knuckles’ voice came out low and guttural, scraped raw from his chest. “If you use him - ”

“You’ll bury me.” Shadow’s interruption was cold as ice. His quills bristled, but his voice never rose. “I heard you the first time.”

The air between them pulsed - alive with threats that neither would back down from.

Then, Shadow turned sharply. “Tails.”

The fox startled, instinctively straightening.

“We’ll need chaos. A lot of it.”

Tails blinked, his voice unsteady. “B-but… where are we supposed to - ?”

“Bring me the box,” Shadow said before he could finish. “Under the sixth floorboard. To your left.”

Tails froze. His tails went still.

Knuckles’ breath caught, confusion flickering across his features.

Shadow’s eyes glowed faintly as he spoke. “You’ve kept it hidden long enough.”

Beneath the floorboards - he’d always known. The shattered Master Emerald. Its fractured shards, humming faintly even now. The mother crystal to the chaos that pulsed in his veins.

“We have work to do.”

The silence that followed was no longer empty. It throbbed with tension, like the quiet before a storm tears the world open. Every one of them felt it - the sense that nothing after this would stay the same.

Sonic’s voice broke the stillness, barely more than a whisper. “...Am I dying?”

No one spoke.

The silence said enough.

Then, from downstairs - “Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Tom’s voice boomed up the staircase, cheerful and oblivious. Ozzie barked in agreement, the sound painfully normal against the heavy quiet that lingered above.

Knuckles’ eyes stayed on Sonic, then on Shadow. His voice dropped to a whisper - low, fierce, and unwavering. “I won’t let that happen.”

No uncertainty. No hesitation. Just a promise carved out of defiance.

Chapter Text

“Six weeks.” Maddie’s fingers clicked the last band into place, her movements precise, deliberate. She stepped back, eyes scanning his form like a sculptor inspecting a raw figure, the overhead light glinting off the edges of her instruments.

“Six weeks?” Shadow’s voice was flat, almost mechanical, but his crimson eyes widened imperceptibly, a flicker of disbelief passing before he sank into the pillow. His jaw clenched, sharp lines tightening across his face. “You’re not serious.”

“Six weeks, indeed.” Maddie’s tone was steady, unyielding as she peeled off her gloves with a crisp snap. “Fibula fractured, two ribs cracked, shoulder wound still raw. That’s the minimum, provided you don’t make it worse.”

Shadow’s gaze dropped to the white cast encasing his ankle, the sterile weight of it mocking him. His lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t have six weeks,” he muttered, low and dangerous, the words barely audible yet carrying a threat.

“You do now.” Maddie’s voice held the cool authority of someone used to defying obstinate patients - she’d faced defiance in all forms before, cats mostly, but he had the same smoldering, contained volatility. “Move on it, and you’ll set yourself back. Severely.”

A faint grimace flickered across Shadow’s face as he pushed against the pillow, ignoring the sharp jolt in his ribs. “Then I’ll heal faster.”

“That’s not how bones work.” Maddie leaned forward, pressing him gently but firmly back into the bed. “Push too hard, and you’ll undo everything. You’ve suffered enough already.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes snapped to hers, razor-edged. “Don’t lecture me.”

Maddie didn’t flinch. Her gaze stayed locked on him. “Then don’t act like the rules don’t apply to you.”

From across the room, Tails hovered by the med tray, pretending to sort supplies. His twin tails twitched nervously, hands fidgeting. Shadow wasn’t just hurt - something deeper thrummed beneath his skin, restrained but potent, like chaos caged. And the weight behind every word, every movement… it wasn’t impatience. It was purpose.

Shadow turned his gaze to the window, golden light outlining the sharp edges of his quills, casting long, angular shadows. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice quieter, almost swallowed by the hum of the room. “There’s something that has to be done.”

“Then it’ll wait,” Maddie said, tone neutral but firm. “You’re a guest here, not a gladiator. One false move, and you’ll be back in this bed before the week’s over.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what that meant. The silence stretched, dense, punctuated only by the soft mechanical hum of the monitor beside him.

Maddie scribbled a few notes, the tip of her pen scratching lightly. Her voice softened fractionally. “You’re healing better than expected. That’s good. Keep it that way.” She paused at the door, turning briefly. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t destroy my work before then.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Shadow staring at it, expression unreadable. The sunlight waned, slipping past the window, shadows stretching long across the room, echoing the stillness he despised. His gaze returned to the plaster encasing his ankle - white, rigid, unyielding. Restraint, a slow suffocation he couldn’t abide.

He flexed his fingers against the bandages over his ribs, testing the dull ache radiating from his shoulder. Every movement felt measured, slow, artificial - everything he was not. Stillness felt like a prison.

Tails cleared his throat softly from the corner. “She’s right, you know,” he said, voice quiet, hesitant. “You… shouldn’t push it.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes flicked toward him, a faint glow in the half-light. “You think I care about rest?”

“No,” Tails admitted, voice low. “I think you care about what comes after.”

Shadow’s stare hardened, a flicker of something unreadable passing, then vanishing. “You don’t know what I care about.”

Tails didn’t argue. He just nodded once, tails flicking nervously, and returned to his tools, leaving Shadow alone with the weight of immobility pressing like stone against his chest.

“Six weeks…” 

And, that night, when the others had settled - Knuckles climbing up to the top bunk, Tails grumbling as he stretched and turned over, and Sonic sprawling lazily across the borrowed air mattress - the house finally sank into quiet.

Almost.

Shadow lay still in the dark, eyes half-closed, his body heavy against the mattress he’d claimed as his own. Sonic had complained about that earlier, of course - loud, indignant, until he realized Shadow wasn’t going to move. 

“He’s sick, Sonic.” Tom disapproved of Sonic's pouting. “And, asleep. Let him rest, buddy.” 

The hedgehog’s victory had been silence, and Shadow was content to keep it that way.

Now, the dim amber of the nightlight bled across the room, broken by soft shapes - the outline of a desk, a discarded pair of gloves, the slow rise and fall of sleeping forms. The air was warm, thick with the faint hum of the heater and the rhythmic whisper of breathing.

Shadow wasn’t asleep. Not even close.

He’d closed his eyes hours ago, feigning rest while his mind drifted - slow, fogged from the medical tests, the questions, the hovering concern. His body ached in dull, persistent pulses, but it wasn’t the pain that kept him awake. It was the noise in his head - too many thoughts, too much memory.

He didn’t want to deal with them. Or with Sonic. Especially Sonic.

So he lay there, quiet and still, every rise of his chest deliberate, controlled.

And that was when he heard it.

There was a soft scuff of movement - the faint padding of feet against the floorboards. The bed opposite him creaked, low and cautious, followed by the quiet protest of wood under shifting weight. A shadow stirred in the dim light, freezing when the floor let out a traitorous groan.

A sharp hiss followed - a whispered warning to the noise itself - before the figure slipped away, vanishing through the doorway and down the stairs.

Shadow didn’t think much of it - until the sound came again. Another set of footsteps, heavier this time, trailing close behind the first.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Everyone’s asleep,” came a voice - low and hushed, but carrying the calm authority of someone used to being listened to. Maddie.

The hedgehog’s brow twitched faintly.

A quiet sheepish voice replied : “...Just five minutes. Please?” 

There was a pause - a sigh that spoke of a long day and a soft heart. “Alright,” Maddie relented after a moment, the faintest smile curling through her tone. “But only for a little while.”

“Deal.”

Something rustled - a blanket shifting, a drawer sliding open. Shadow’s crimson eyes flicked open a sliver, just enough to see the fox scramble across the dim room, clutching something close to his chest.

Tails held out a small, weathered book to Maddie. Its cover was cracked and faded, the edges frayed from years of being turned and loved. The title barely clung to the spine: The Star Voyager and the Garden Planet.

Maddie took the book delicately, the corners of her mouth lifting as she traced a thumb over the worn title. “Your favorite?” she whispered, almost to herself.

Tails nodded, eyes wide with anticipation.

Shadow watched them from his pillow, silent and still. The warmth in their exchange was unfamiliar. Strange. The kind of thing he’d only ever seen from a distance - once. Long ago.

The fox tugged gently on Maddie’s hand, leading her to sit at the edge of his bunk. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, opened the book with a practiced care, and began to read in a voice that seemed to wrap around the room like soft candlelight.

“Long ago, at the far edge of a distant star beyond our solar system, there lay a planet no one dared to set foot on. They said it was the home to a creature made of fire - a monster who burned anything that came near.” 

Shadow’s ears tilted slightly.

“But - one day, when space was extra quiet, a pilot crash landed there.” She forced her eyes to widen in shock. “She was frightened - Terrified when she remembered the men, women and the children of her planet’s stories. What would happen to her now? She’d wondered.” 

Tails’ tails swayed gently, the faintest smile on his muzzle. Maddie read on, her voice wrapping around the quiet like a blanket.

“When she woke up, the girl found flowers growing from the ashes, and the monster - was waiting with a gift. He wasn’t fire at all, not really. He was light.” 

“The pilot learned that he guarded the garden, keeping it alive with his warmth. But no one had ever stayed long enough to see that. They only saw the smoke.”

Shadow’s hand twitched against the sheets. He told himself it was nothing. Just fatigue.

“And when the pilot finally returned home,” Maddie continued, “she tried to tell everyone what she’d seen - but they didn’t believe her. They called her foolish. Said monsters don’t have gardens.”

Her voice softened. “So she went back. Because sometimes… when the world refuses to understand, you make your own place among the stars.”

For a while, only the quiet hum of the lamp filled the air.

Shadow didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t have to. He could feel the way Tails leaned forward, hanging on the words. He could feel Maddie’s warmth in her tone - not clinical, not cold, just… gentle.

Something deep in his chest twisted.

It was ridiculous. A story for children. But the image clung to him all the same. A creature mistaken for a monster. Alone on a dying world. Protecting something fragile because no one else could.

When Maddie finally closed the book, the soft sound of the cover shutting seemed louder than it should have.

"That’s it for tonight.” She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Tails’ forehead, her thumb brushing the fur along his cheekbone aside.

“Goodnight, Mum.” 

“Night, Sweetheart.” And the door closed with a quiet click behind her.

Shadow didn’t move.

His gaze lingered on the quiet room, but his mind wandered far from it - back to cold, metallic corridors and the sharp scent of antiseptic. He remembered the humans he had known before: the ones in white coats whose eyes were hidden behind glass, whose voices were sterile and clipped, whose hands gripped too tightly in the name of “help.” Every sound back then had echoed with threat - every light, too bright; every gesture, too clinical to be kind.

But here, things were different. The woman hadn’t recoiled from him when she’d seen his scars. The fox hadn’t looked at him with fear, only with that steady, unguarded warmth that Shadow found himself unable to ignore. The air here didn’t hum with tension - it was soft, domestic, faintly scented with herbs and warmth.

She’d been… kind. Safe. 

His face tightened with something he didn’t quite know how to name. He turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes tracing the faint rise and fall of Tails’ small form in sleep. For a fleeting moment, he thought of Maria - of the way her voice used to carry gentleness even through the cold walls of the ARK.

Maybe, he thought, not all humans were like the ones he remembered. Maybe some still carried a piece of Maria’s kindness.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t dream of the Ark.

He dreamed of the garden.

And, at last, he slept.

But being confined to bed didn’t mean Shadow was idle.

“You weren’t exactly being honest when you said you were just… choosing not to use your Chaos powers, were you?” Tails asked, wincing a little at how blunt it sounded. His chair gave a soft squeak as he turned to face Shadow, ears dipping low. “No offense,” he added quickly, his tone careful, almost apologetic.

Shadow didn’t answer right away. His crimson eyes flicked toward the young fox, unreadable. Then, in that low, even voice of his, he finally said, “Hn. I don’t make a habit of explaining myself.”

Tails hesitated, fingers fidgeting with a screwdriver. “So… that’s a ‘no,’ then?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Shadow’s mouth. He hid it before it could manifest properly. “That’s a ‘you’re sharper than you look.’”

He blushed and ignored Shadow's indirect flattery. “Well, if that’s the case, and we need your Chaos energy to extract the Emerald from Sonic, then - wait!”

Tails’ words trailed off as something clicked in his head. His twin tails flicked with sudden excitement, and before Shadow could so much as raise an eyebrow, the young fox leapt up from his workstation. A cascade of scattered tools clinked and rolled across the floor as he ducked beneath the cluttered table.

“I just - need to find - ” came his muffled voice from somewhere under the mess. His paws rummaged through spare circuits and half-finished gadgets, the faint sound of metal on metal echoing through the room.

Then, a triumphant shout: “Aha!”

It was immediately followed by a loud bonk.

“Ow - !” Tails hissed through his teeth, his ears flattening as he rubbed the sore spot on his head. Still, he emerged grinning, a small, dust-covered device held proudly in one hand. “Found it!” he declared, tail tips flicking with satisfaction.

Shadow watched in silence, arms folded, his gaze following every quick, purposeful movement the young fox made. His expression remained largely impassive - save for the faint, habitual twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

“Your methods are… unconventional,” he said coolly, voice edged with dry amusement.

Tails gave a nervous chuckle, brushing flecks of dust from his fur. “Heh - yeah, well, sometimes that’s what innovation looks like.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes narrowed with mild interest as he nodded toward the tool. “Do elaborate.”

The fox’s demeanor shifted instantly - his tail flicked once, his ears perked, and his voice took on the focused cadence of a scientist deep in his element.

“Our energy signatures operate at frequencies far beyond the capacity of human-made instruments,” Tails began, gesturing subtly with the device as he spoke. “Neither elemental compounds nor synthetic materials on Earth can accurately replicate, store, or disrupt them. Chaos energy - ours, specifically - functions on a wavelength outside the electromagnetic spectrum, closer to quantum fluctuation than any measurable light or radiation.”

He paused, glancing at Shadow to ensure he was following before continuing, more animated now. “What this scanner does is capture a resonance echo from the fountain of Chaos within us. It tracks how that energy circulates, isolates its point of origin, and maps its behavior through our biological and molecular structure. If there’s any disruption - instability, blockage, imbalance - it’ll visualize it in real time. Although I’ve…never used it.”

Shadow regarded the fox for a long moment, eyes faintly glinting. “…You’ve gone to impressive lengths to understand something you can’t wield.”

Tails smiled faintly, his tails curling behind him. “Maybe. But understanding is the first step toward mastering the unknown.”

“…Hn.” Shadow’s arms lowered, his tone thoughtful but guarded. “You intend to map Chaos energy.”

“Exactly,” Tails confirmed, his tails flicking in rhythm with his excitement. “If I can visualize the flow pattern, I can understand how it’s interacting with Sonic and your body - and more importantly, where it’s lodged.” He turned toward his workstation, placing the device carefully into a small charging port. A series of holographic lines flickered to life, rising above the table in a soft blue glow.

Shadow leaned closer, eyes narrowing slightly at the projection. The image pulsed, cycling through strands of waveforms and data points scrolling faster than the average human eye could track.

“It responds to you,” Tails murmured, glancing over his shoulder at Shadow. “Even without using Chaos Control directly. Your presence alone is enough to excite the particles around the detector.”

Shadow said nothing at first, but his quills lifted faintly with the subtle ripple of Chaos energy that always clung to him - an aura that even now, restrained as it was, bent the data streams ever so slightly out of sync.

Tails noticed. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “It’s self-stabilizing even when dormant. That shouldn’t be possible without an active conduit.”

Shadow’s eyes flicked toward him, a faint gleam catching the red in his irises. “Chaos energy doesn’t obey your laws of matter and stability. It bends them.”

“Right,” Tails replied, his voice softer now, analytical but edged with awe. “It’s not just a source of power… it’s reactive sentience. It behaves more like a living field than an element.”

Shadow’s gaze drifted back to the projection, his expression tightening at the word living. He watched as the pulsing lines bent in time with his heartbeat, as though the energy recognized him.

“…Then your device had better be precise,” he said at last, voice low and steady. “Because if it misreads Chaos - if it mistakes control for interference - you won’t just risk Sonic.”

Tails’ ears flicked back slightly, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know. That’s why I’m testing it on you first.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “You intend to scan me?”

“Only to calibrate,” Tails assured quickly, already adjusting the dials. “ You’re the only one whose Chaos signature is both stable and measurable. If I can isolate your wavelength, I’ll have the baseline I need to identify the anomaly in Sonic. Plus, you’ll need your chaos to help him.”

The hedgehog’s silence stretched for a long moment. Then, slowly, he inched towards the faint circle of blue light that emanated from the scanner.

“Very well,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Do it.”

Tails smiled faintly, fingers moving over the console. “Just… try to stay still. This’ll only take a moment.”

Shadow gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. “You think Chaos stands still?”

And with that, the scanner began to hum - low, resonant, and building - casting streaks of cyan light across the walls as it began to read the energy flowing beneath Shadow’s skin.

The machine emitted a sharp beep, the sound crisp against the low thrum of the bedroom. Tails’ ears twitched, instantly attuned. With practiced precision, he flicked a switch on the side panel and disengaged the handheld unit from its scanning cycle. A faint hiss of static faded as the device powered down, its display still glowing with residual traces of crimson and cobalt light.

“Got it,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Shadow.

He crossed the room in quick, efficient steps - tail tips brushing the floor as he slotted the scanner back into its docking port. The moment the device connected, a soft click echoed through the table, and the lab’s main screen flared to life.

Lines of data scrolled upward in a torrent of unreadable symbols, punctuated by flashes of deep red energy signatures - each pulse synchronized to the faint rhythm of Shadow’s heartbeat, even now that the scan had ended. Slowly, the data resolved into an image.

The holographic projection expanded across the screen, illuminating the fox’s wide eyes with shifting hues of crimson, orange, and black. It was a three-dimensional map - an intricate lattice of energy threads spiraling through a humanoid outline. At its center burned a mass of concentrated power, flickering like a contained storm.

Tails exhaled softly, awe creeping into his voice. “Incredible… it’s like it’s alive.”

Shadow watched from his bed, silent, his red eyes reflecting the glow of his own energy on display. The patterns danced and twisted in hypnotic rhythm, chaotic yet impossibly ordered - like a pulse born from both creation and destruction.

Tails adjusted the focus, isolating a stream of energy that coursed through the chest region. “This is your Chaos core,” he explained, voice steady but brimming with fascination. “It’s… more stable than I expected. The frequency isn’t erratic - it’s resonant. Balanced.”

Shadow’s gaze didn’t leave the screen. “It adapts,” he said quietly, tone threaded with something unreadable. “Chaos never rests - it shifts to survive.”

“However -”

Tails’ voice faltered, the bright spark of discovery in his tone dimming. His smile faded as his eyes narrowed on the data. Gripping the mouse, he clicked rapidly, expanding the projection until the energy lattice filled the screen in pulsating detail. The patterns twisted and shimmered like living veins of light.

“This… doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.

Shadow’s gaze sharpened. “What doesn’t?”

“Your Chaos flow.” Tails leaned closer, his expression tightening with confusion. “It’s stable - too stable. Perfectly balanced output, no degradation, no internal interference. There shouldn’t be any problem with your ability to wield it.” He paused, scrolling through the energy layers, his twin tails flicking in unease. “Except…”

He zoomed in again, isolating a small, faint distortion deep within the web of energy. A thin filament - barely visible - looped through the main current, dimming the light where it passed.

“There.”

Shadow stepped forward, eyes narrowing as the section magnified on the screen. “Is that - ”

Tails nodded grimly. “A failsafe.”

He brought up the readings, overlays of frequency data flashing beside the image. “Someone’s placed an external inhibitor. It’s acting like a valve - restricting the flow of Chaos energy at the source. Not internal suppression… it’s interference from outside you.”

Shadow’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “So someone sealed my power.”

Tails glanced up at him, hesitant. “Not sealed. Controlled. Like… they didn’t want to destroy the flow - just limit it. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

A long silence followed, broken only by the faint hum of the monitor. Shadow’s quills shifted slightly, the crimson flicker in his eyes sharpening to a cold, dangerous glow.

“Gerald.”

The name left Shadow’s mouth before he fully realized he’d spoken it. It lingered in the air like an echo from a time he’d tried to bury.

Tails grimaced. “I think so. Did… something happen that would’ve triggered the protocol?”

Shadow’s eyes drifted toward the holographic projection still pulsing faintly on the screen. His reflection shimmered within it - fractured, red and orange across his form. And as he stared, memory began to bleed through logic. He didn’t need to think long; he already knew the answer.

Yes. Something had happened. Something catastrophic enough to wake the failsafe.

He was quietly grateful that Tails had sent the rest of the household out before beginning the scan. They didn’t need to hear this - didn’t need to know what kind of desperation had driven him to that point. He didn’t want their pity, or worse, their fear.

Tails was the exception, but only out of necessity. The fox needed the information to complete his analysis, nothing more. That was the only reason Shadow spoke at all - because a scientist required data, not empathy.

“…During my escape from the ARK,” Shadow began, his voice low, steady but weighted. “I executed a Chaos maneuver - classified as a Level Omega Rift. It was never meant to be performed by a single lifeform. The calculations alone…” He paused, the faint hum of the machines filling the gap. “On any other day, it would’ve killed me.”

Tails turned slightly in his chair, watching him carefully. “Could you describe it? The exact process?”

Shadow exhaled slowly, eyes distant. “It was a forced phase shift through non-linear space. I bent the boundaries of temporal and spatial fields simultaneously - ripped through a point in spacetime using raw Chaos output.” He lifted one hand slightly, flexing it as if remembering the pain that had once crawled through it. “When I did, the molecular cohesion in my body began to disintegrate. Chaos energy doesn’t tolerate organic matter moving faster than causality - it partially pulverized me from within.”

Tails’ ears flattened. “That’s… impossible. You shouldn’t have survived that.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Shadow agreed. His gaze dropped to the faint shimmer around the golden inhibitor rings on his wrists. “The rings were designed to prevent exactly that kind of overload. They regulate my energy output within safe thresholds.” His tone hardened, almost bitter. “But I overrode them. I forced the flow through.”

Tails blinked, the weight of that admission settling between them. “So the protocol - Gerald’s failsafe - it might’ve been a response to that surge. It detected you breaching your limit and locked the Chaos source remotely.”

Shadow’s jaw tightened. He could almost feel it - the phantom ache in his chest, the echo of Chaos energy still twisting deep beneath his skin. The idea that Gerald had built a leash into his very essence wasn’t surprising - but it still stung.

“The man who put it there can’t reverse it. Not while they’re with him. And honestly… I don’t even know if Gerald would - he’s unpredictable, untrustworthy.”

Tails’ eyes narrowed, determination flaring. “Whatever he locked away,” he said suddenly, voice steady, “I’ll find it.”

“How?” Shadow asked, his tone clipped.

Tails didn’t look up. Fingers flying over the keyboard, he tapped in a series of commands, eyes scanning lines of code and data streams. “I have… theories,” he said, his voice steady but precise.

“This failsafe of yours is functioning like a biological inhibitor - think of it as a hormone suppressant. Only in this case, the ‘hormone’ is your Chaos energy. The inhibitor prevents it from binding to the specific active sites you normally use to channel and manipulate your power consciously. Instead, it just… swirls randomly, uncontained, at a diminished intensity. That’s why your output is weaker and, as a side effect, why your regenerative capabilities are slowed. Your body can’t access the full potential of Chaos for repair.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes flicking toward Shadow. “It’s subtle, but effective. Gerald, he -” He was awed in the way a scientist would be looking at another's research. 

“The doctor was a genius.” Shadow said it with a measured tone - trying not to sound proud, though the edge of approval slipped through regardless. He had always respected Gerald more than the others in their white coats; there was a precision to the man that Shadow couldn’t help but acknowledge.

Tails’ fingers hovered over the console as he considered the data. “If the failsafe’s signal is being relayed through that station, disrupting the uplink should terminate the inhibitor’s effect,” he said, voice clinical. “Essentially, we’d sever the control loop - remove the external feedback that’s holding your Chaos in a suppressed state.”

Shadow’s expression hardened. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Tails met his gaze, brief and uncompromising. “We’ll overload the station’s receiver - induce a controlled electromagnetic cascade targeted at the relay frequency. It’ll fry the signal path and collapse the failsafe’s hold.” He hesitated, then added, “It won’t be elegant.”

Shadow let the words land. “Unpleasant is an understatement.” He felt the old, familiar edge in his chest - the part that accepted necessary violence when it served a purpose. 

“But to do that, we’d require an extraordinary amount of energy,” Tails said, his voice tight, the subtle tremor betraying the weight of what he was considering. His eyes darted across the simulations on the console, scanning lines of fluctuating data and energy projections. “The operation would be inherently unstable. The risk-to-benefit ratio is extremely unfavorable in your case. The output would be highly volatile, nearly impossible to regulate, and without a purpose-built containment device - one that doesn’t exist yet - we could end up doing more harm than good.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes flicked to the floor, where the Master Emerald lay in its protective case. He could feel the faint pulse of its energy, subtle but insistent, like a heartbeat buried in static. His jaw tightened. The pull of its power teased at the edges of his control, whispering promises of release - and yet, he felt a tension knotting deep in his chest.

“The Emeralds. Use them,” he said, his tone steady but heavy, almost daring.

Tails froze, his ears flattening against his head as the weight of Shadow’s suggestion hit him. He shook his head sharply. “Knuckles would literally have my head if I tried that,” he said, voice edged with frustration and anxiety.

“Even a single Emerald is a massive source of energy. Combining them risks uncontrollable feedback loops. Sonic already destabilizing one is bad enough - the probability of catastrophic interference skyrockets if we involve the Master Emerald.” His fingers flexed, twitching over the console as if he could channel his worry into the device itself. “And Knuckles… he’s not just protective. His response is instinctive, almost… primal. He’ll fight, relentlessly, to maintain control. He’d never forgive this - and I’d never survive it.”

Shadow’s eyes softened fractionally, a small exhale of acknowledgment escaping him.“I understand,” he said quietly. His gaze lingered on the subtle shimmer of the Emerald, pulse echoing faintly in his chest. “He protects it.”

“With absolute priority,” Tails admitted, his voice dropping low, heavy with respect and concern. “Every action he takes, every second he’s aware of the Emerald, it’s all to maintain structural integrity - even if it costs him everything.”

Shadow’s quills shifted minutely, an almost imperceptible tremor running along his spine. It was a quiet, humanizing moment: a recognition of the stakes, of loyalty, and of the sacrifices others were willing to make. And for the first time in a long while, the weight of their dedication pressed on him - not as a challenge to overcome, but as a responsibility he felt in the marrow of his own being.

He couldn’t put brothers against each other with this.

Shadow searched for any hint of concession in his chest and found one - small and sharp. “And if we were to target the city’s electrical core? Would that be sufficient?” he asked, voice unsure, as if bargaining with a dangerous truth. The suggestion sat between them like a live wire; pragmatic, invasive, and ugly in its simplicity despite the Master Emerald’s quiet promise beside him.

Tails’ brow furrowed as he ran a mental map of circuitry and load-balancing across Greenhills. For a heartbeat he was all scientist - calculation, probability, fallback contingencies - then something human slipped through: a grin that spread slow and irrepressible across his face. His eyes lit up with the kind of giddy triumph that came from finding a workaround that was clever rather than catastrophic.

“It’d knock out every light in Greenhills for maybe five minutes,” he said, voice bright with the thrill of an elegant solution. “But - yes. Technically, it’s enough to disrupt the relay long enough to collapse the failsafe.”

Shadow watched that grin and felt an odd tangle of relief and culpability. Sabotaging a power grid was small in scale compared to the alternative, but it was still a violation - an ugly, necessary bruise on the town. He shouldn’t care that a few families would fumble for candles; the mission mattered. Still, an echo of something softer - an almost-guilt  - tightened his throat. “Then that’s our next step,” he said, quieter now, the decision sealed in a voice that held both command and concession.

Just a little longer, my sun. 

Tails’ excitement tempered into focused resolve. He already began listing tools and timings aloud: window for minimal risk, fail-safes to prevent sustained outage, a non-invasive pulse to trip the relay without frying transformers. Each technical detail was a small promise that they could be surgical about this - that they could take what was necessary and leave the rest.

Shadow allowed himself a single nod. The plan felt imperfect and human, and that was somehow enough.

“Get Sonic here, now. It’s time we see exactly what we’re dealing with.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of processors filled the workshop - steady, rhythmic, alive. Cables sprawled across the floor in tangled veins, pulsing faintly with power that fed into a wall of glowing monitors. Their light washed over Tails in cold hues of blue and white, outlining the exhaustion beneath his eyes and the slight frown on his lips.

Tails sat hunched at the console, half a sandwich forgotten in his paw, crumbs gathering across a pile of half-written notes. His gaze never left the screen; his fingers moved like they were following a script his mind no longer had the energy to narrate.

“This isn’t as easy as you think.” he murmured absently, voice rough from hours of silence.

Behind him, boots tapped the wooden floor in an even rhythm. Pacing. A predator’s patience thinning by the minute.

“It’s been seven days.” Shadow’s tone rumbled low - not anger exactly, but something tight and controlled beneath it.

Tails didn’t flinch. He’d gotten used to the hedgehog’s restless movement, to that quiet sound of frustration caught between gritted teeth.

“You’ve done it before.” Shadow pressed, coming to a stop just in front him. “Just do the same thing again.” 

That earned a glance. The fox swiveled halfway in his chair, sandwich still dangling from his hand. He took a large, defiant bite before answering through the mouthful.“Well, if we take into consideration the timing -” munch “- then we can esti-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”  The reprimand landed like a knife - quiet, exact.

Tails froze mid-chew, swallowed hard, and rubbed the back of his neck with a faint wince. “Right. Sorry.” 

He turned back, brushing crumbs from the console as his hands resumed their dance across the keys. Lines of encrypted code scrolled down the screen like rain. “The Ark’s been reinforced,”  he said, his voice  steadier now  - tone shifting into the analytical calm he always found in data. 

“Files that were hard to access before are practically sealed off now. The new firewalls are stacked, multi-layered. Every entry point is lined with malware traps and - ” his expression faltered, “ - a few... uh, very questionable pop-ups. My software’s not going to recover from that one.” A faint shiver ran through him at the memory.

Shadow didn’t respond, but the silence behind Tails grew heavier - that familiar, silent pressure that made the fox acutely aware of every sound the machines made. He didn’t need to look up to know the hedgehog's Shadow was stretched long over the floor, still and waiting.

“I’ve managed to break through some of the outer security,” Tails went on quickly, eyes flicking across his screens,  “so it’s not impossible. Just... slower this time.”

“How much slower?”

Tails hesitated - long enough for the soft hum of the equipment to fill the space between them.

“Last time it took me about a month.”

The sound that left Shadow wasn’t a growl, but close. A frustrated exhale, sharp through his nose as he turned slightly away. His hands curled into fists, the faint glint of Chaos energy pulsing under his gloves. “I don’t have that kind of time, Tails.” He repeated what he’d said to Maddie a week ago. 

For a heartbeat, the fox said nothing. Then he leaned back in his chair, twin tails swaying once behind him. “Guess that just means I’ll have to work even harder, huh?”

The glow from the monitor's reflection caught the flick of Shadow’s eyes - a brief, unspoken acknowledgment. He didn’t answer, but the pacing stopped. Only the steady hum of the machines filled the silence again.

“Without direct authorization from our contact, I can only extrapolate with what I’ve got,” Tails added half-heartedly, his eyes flicking between streams of shifting programs. Lines of numerical code pulsed across the monitors -  thermal readings, biosignal fluctuations, incomplete energy patterns. The words left his mouth like an afterthought, but Shadow’s ears angled sharply toward him.

“Our contact?” Shadow’s voice came low and measured. He stepped closer, pretending to study the data - graphs pulsing, charts recalibrating in real time - but his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on the fox.

Tails didn’t look up. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, too quickly, adjusting a frequency parameter as though to bury the comment beneath the clicking of keys. “They wouldn’t approve of this kind of analysis. Not after the last time since the case’d been closed.”

He took the final square of his sandwich and popped it into his mouth, chewing with deliberate calm. “Honestly,” he added between bites, “they’d probably confiscate my computer before I even finished running the diagnostics.”

Shadow studied him - not with suspicion, but curiosity. The fox spoke in riddles without meaning to, burying meaning beneath technical jargon. It wasn’t deceitful… just peculiar. 

“Interesting,” Shadow murmured, his gaze tracing the flowing graphs though his attention had long since drifted from them. The data meant little now - only motion, lines and numbers flickering against the dark. His voice carried quiet suspicion under the calm. “You keep curious company, Tails.”

The fox didn’t answer right away. A low hum escaped him, noncommittal, as his twin tails flicked once - the barest ripple of motion, gone almost as soon as it appeared. But Shadow caught it. He always did. He filed the gesture away in that meticulous, silent way of his, where nothing truly went unnoticed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tails said finally, tone light enough to be deflective.

“It wasn’t.”

That earned him a quiet snort - half amusement, half exhaustion. “Ha. Figures.” The corners of Tails’ mouth lifted despite himself. He pressed one final key and watched as the last stream of code stabilised. 

His back arched as he stretched, joints popping softly in protest. Both tails curled with the motion - slow, deliberate, almost feline in their grace. The light from the monitors haloed the fine fur along his arms, catching on the sheen of his tools and half-finished notes scattered across the desk.

“I’m gonna take a break,” Tails sighed, rolling his shoulders until the stiffness cracked away. “That sandwich did nothing.”

Shadow’s gaze lingered - not on the screen, but on the tremor that ghosted through the fox’s fingers. They were steady enough to type, but only just. He could see the exhaustion, the tension hidden beneath the easy tone.

Shadow’s eyes followed the faint shake in the fox’s hands, the tightness in his shoulders. “Tom mentioned lunch when I came in ten minutes ago,” he said, recalling the man’s voice with mechanical precision.

Tails’ ears flicked up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Forgot.” Shadow’s tone was simple, unbothered.

He turned toward the door, boots clicking against the wood in a sound that somehow felt heavier than it should have.

“W - Wait -”

The word barely escaped before the sharp click of a closing laptop made him pause. Not a slam. Just a sound too precise to be casual. The sound cut through the hum of the machines, final and deliberate. Every monitor flickered in response, the light ebbing away until the workshop sank into half-shadow. Only the fading pulse of the main display remained, glowing briefly before collapsing into black.

Shadow stopped. Slowly, his gaze drifted back over his shoulder - crimson eyes mirroring  the faint afterglow of the blackened screens. 

Tails stood motionless behind the desk, one hand still resting on the laptop’s lid. His expression was unreadable - too calm, too carefully placed. Beneath the surface calm, though, something else flickered. A thought. A fear. Something he didn’t intend to share.

“…Problem?” Shadow’s voice was low, nearly a whisper, but the weight behind it filled the room.

The silence that followed wasn’t still - it buzzed faintly with static from the powered-down screens, humming in the wires like breath held too long.

“Just hungry,” Tails said finally, forcing a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Shadow watched him for a long second - then nodded once, accepting it at face value. But as he turned away again, the unease stayed - a thin, invisible thread between them, drawn tight. He could feel it now, that something was being tucked away behind the fox’s easy voice and tired grin. Something he wasn’t meant to see.

And for the first time, Shadow realized just how easily Tails could lie - not through words, but through silence, through a glance or a carefully crafted breath that said nothing and yet concealed everything.

That thought lingered with him as they made their way through the narrow stretch of forest leading to the fox’s shed. The air was still damp from the night before, pine needles soft underfoot, and the faint glow of morning filtering through the trees.

But by the time they reached the small house tucked beneath the canopy, the quiet was already broken - Knuckles’ voice carried through the open doorway, sharp and irritated, echoing like the complaint of someone who’d been waiting too long.

“You’re joking.” Knuckles leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with disbelief. His crimson brow furrowed as he eyed the plate in front of him. “Again?”

He rolled his eyes and made a low, impatient click of his tongue. One gloved finger hooked under the rim of the dish, tilting it slightly - as if a different angle might somehow reveal a different meal. No such luck. The unmistakable scent of chili and toasted bread rose up like a challenge.

“Yep,” Tom admitted, exhaling through a laugh that was more sigh than amusement. “It’s the Sonic special. Again.”

Shadow had been staying with them for a week now. The days passed in a blur of half-silence and the soft sounds of domestic life - the hum of a kettle, the creak of the old floorboards, the faint laughter that drifted down the hallway. He wasn’t used to any of it. Too much warmth, too much quiet. It was… disarming.

The domesticity was foreign. 

His wounds, though knitting back together faster than expected, still throbbed beneath the gauze - hot reminders of failure, of time slipping away. He could feel it with every movement: the Ark, calling to him from orbit like a ghost. Every second spent here was a second wasted - one more moment Maria remained under G.U.N’s shadow.

And yet… he stayed.

Because Maddie insisted. Because they were the key to her. 

Every morning, without exception, Maddie would appear with her small metal kit and that calm, unflappable expression. The faint scent of antiseptic followed her, sterile and sharp, cutting through the air before she even spoke.

“Hold still,” she’d say in that even, doctor’s tone - gentle but firm enough that even he obeyed.

He never looked at her directly when she worked. Instead, his eyes fixed on the far wall, or the slow curl of steam from a mug left nearby. Her hands were steady, methodical - cleaning, rewrapping, adjusting - always efficient, never invasive. But every time she touched him, his muscles twitched in protest. The contact was wrong. It was too human.

Every instinct in him resisted and despised the sensation -  the soft pressure of fingers brushing his fur, the sting of alcohol against raw skin. His body remembered the Ark: cold gloves, metal restraints, the sting of needles that bit too deep. Human hands had built him, studied him, used him.

He had no reason to trust them now.

Every fiber of his being wanted to recoil, to pull away from her reach and the faint warmth that came with it.

But he didn’t. He endured, because Maddie’s were different. They didn’t linger or pry. Her touch wasn’t ownership - it was necessity. Function. He watched her work the way he might watch a machine: reliable, impersonal. And despite the unease that scraped beneath his ribs, there was something about her movements - the precision, the control - that reminded him of discipline, of care forged through purpose.

He noticed the small things - the way she’d hum faintly under her breath while cutting a new length of gauze, or the soft concentration in her brow when she dabbed antiseptic along a line of bruises. Her movements were clinical, but her quiet care was real. She never told him it would “be alright.” She simply made sure that it was.

She didn’t chatter. Didn’t fill the silence with empty sympathy or meaningless questions. And that, above all else, he respected.

Not once had Maddie asked where the wounds came from. Not once had she pressed for answers about who - or what - he was. She only worked, efficient and silent, treating him as though he were simply another life that needed mending. No judgment. No curiosity. Just quiet professionalism.

It unsettled him - that kind of restraint. Most humans he’d met couldn’t help themselves. They wanted to understand him, to pick him apart like a puzzle they could solve. But not her. Maddie never asked about the scars beneath the bandages, or the burns that didn’t heal quite right. She didn’t even ask why he stayed, or what he’d lost.

And because of that, he found himself watching her longer than he meant to.

When she finished, she’d always say the same thing:  “There. All done.”

Then she’d pack away her instruments, wipe her hands on a towel, and offer a nod that carried no expectation of gratitude.

He never thanked her. Not once.

But when she left the room, he’d find himself staring at the clean bandages and wondering - against his better judgment - what kind of person helped a stranger like him without ever asking what it cost.

And though he would never admit it aloud, Shadow respected Maddie more than most humans he’d ever met.

Because she did not pry. She did not judge. She simply helped.

In her silence, she became the first human he couldn’t categorize.

Yesterday, she’d finally cleared him to walk.

Now, standing on his feet again, Shadow could feel control returning - the world steadying beneath him. The ache in his muscles felt earned. Real. For the first time in days, he wasn’t just surviving; he was moving.

And yet, beneath the small sense of recovery, urgency churned. He needed to leave. He needed to get back to the Ark - to find Maria before G.U.N buried her memory for good.

Still, as he stepped into the kitchen, the smell of chili and the low hum of voices pulled him back to the present - to this strange, too-warm place he couldn’t quite hate.

The kitchen light caught the faint weariness in Tom’s grin, softening the creases at the corners of his eyes. “In my defense,” he added, gesturing helplessly toward the counter, “Maddie made it.”

He shrugged with the kind of easy resignation only a family man could master, then grabbed a folded kitchen towel and tossed it over his shoulder in one practiced motion. The scent of fresh onions and hot sauce lingered as he turned, setting down the remaining plates with a casual thud. Steam curled from the heap of chili dogs, rising into the warm air like a slow dance of defeat and comfort all at once.

“At least Shadow gets to try it for the first time,” Tom said, flashing the black hedgehog a hopeful smile as he took his seat opposite the group. “I hope you like it!”

But, Shadow could only regard the plate with measured suspicion, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

The chili sauce oozed down the sides of the grilled meat in thick, sticky rivulets, pooling against the toasted bun. Crispy fried onions tumbled haphazardly to the bottom, curling and darkening where the sauce clung to them. Pickles, green and pungent, exuded a sharp, almost aggressive tang that cut through the richer, heavier scents. Every element screamed excess, and yet something about the combination felt… wrong.

He cast a sidelong glance across the table and noticed Knuckles studying his own plate with mirrored incredulity, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set. The sheer audacity of the meal seemed to bind them in silent disgust.

Sonic, however, paid no heed to decorum or restraint. Perched casually on Tails’ left, he sank his teeth into the greasy indulgence without hesitation. The moment his teeth met the bun and meat, a small moan of pleasure escaped him, lips glistening with the oily residue of sauce and cheese. “So good,” he said, eyes closing briefly in ecstasy before opening to nod vigorously at Tom, giving him a wet, enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Never better.”

Tails ate in a completely different rhythm. His movements were mechanical, almost detached - a fox running on autopilot. Each bite disappeared into his mouth, chewed and swallowed with the precision of a machine rather than the enjoyment of a meal. He barely registered taste, barely noticed texture; his exhaustion kept him tethered to routine, a cog in a system designed only to move food from plate to stomach.

And Shadow, watching all of it, felt a familiar tightening in his gut - that low, insistent churn he had first learned to recognize in the labs, the warning that came before every experiment gone wrong. The smell, the sheen of grease, the careless scatter of toppings - it all screamed excess, but now a colder thought pressed in.

Experiments disguised as meals.

His crimson eyes flicked over the plate again to every detail which seemed amplified, every scent sharp enough to raise alarms. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a memory of chemical traces, of modified nutrients, of being force fed, whispered just under the surface. The joy on Sonic’s face, the mindless chewing of Tails - it all felt disturbingly careless.

Shadow’s ears twitched once, reflexively, and his gaze darted toward Tom. There was a polite smile on the human’s face, warmth in his posture, yet Shadow couldn’t ignore the sense that something had been added without his consent. Not necessarily malicious - perhaps just a misunderstanding - but enough to trigger every instinct honed through years of containment, observation, and betrayal.

He leaned back slightly, distancing himself from the plate, still watching the others indulge. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of food, the laughter - it should have been comforting.

Instead, it set his teeth on edge. Shadow’s body was still, but every muscle coiled, every sense alert. He did not reach for the meal. Not yet. Not until he knew exactly what was in it.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Shadow said, his voice low and edged with certainty. “I know what your kind wants.”

He didn’t ease into it - he tore the bandage off in one brutal motion, words as clean and cutting as a blade. “I don’t appreciate your indirectness.”

Knuckles froze mid-bite. The chili dog hovered an inch from his mouth before he slowly lowered it back onto the plate, eyes narrowing in quiet confusion. The air shifted - the easy warmth that had filled the kitchen moments ago now curdled into tension.

Tom blinked, caught off guard. He set his own chili dog down with care, the motion almost tentative. “Uh… my kind?” His tone was uneasy, the friendly cadence faltering as he searched Shadow’s unreadable face.

“Humans.” The word fell from Shadow’s mouth like a verdict. He straightened, shoulders squaring as he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “You put something in the food.”

The hedgehog’s nose twitched faintly; crimson eyes narrowed, tracking the faint scent that no one else seemed to notice. “I can smell the bitterness.”

The room went silent - a thick, heavy kind of silence that clung to the walls. Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed to quiet. Tom’s hand stilled halfway across the counter. Sonic glanced between them, uncertain whether to speak or stay out of it. And Shadow just stood there - perfectly still, perfectly calm - while suspicion pulsed through the air like static before a storm.

“I think that’s the mustard, Shadow…” Sonic mumbled around a mouthful of hotdog, his voice casual but careful, as though testing the air before stepping into it. He tried to laugh, but it came out strained, too quick, and he almost choked as he coughed out: “Tom’s not out here cooking up - what - anti-hedgehog poison?”

“You take me for a fool?” Shadow tested. “You think I wouldn’t recognise the scent of sedatives?”

“Hey - Hey - Hey guys” Tom lifted his hands in surrender, trying to defuse the electrical current crawling through the room. “I didn’t put anything in it that I shouldn’t have. You can check the ingredients yourself if you want. Everything’s from the fridge. Nothing secret.” He spoke to Shadow as he gestured toward the counter cluttered with bottles and wrappers.

Shadow didn’t move at first. The air between them felt stretched thin - like the pause before something broke. Then he took a single step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. His eyes drifted toward the chili dog, studying it like a weapon rather than a meal.

But then - a hand caught his wrist.

Small fingers, light but firm, pressed over the pulse beneath his glove. Shadow’s head snapped around, instinct firing before reason caught up. Tails stood beside him, his expression calm, almost disarmingly so. The fox didn’t flinch under the weight of Shadow’s stare; instead, he offered a faint, knowing smile and - without breaking eye contact - took another deliberate bite of his food.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The message was simple: If it were poisoned, I’d already be gone.

For a long, suspended heartbeat, the room froze in time. The light from the kitchen’s hanging bulb caught on the edge of Shadow’s crimson eyes as he stared at Tails - too long, too still. The air seemed to thicken between them, steeped in the scent of chili and something unspoken. Even the steady hum of the refrigerator dimmed, swallowed by the silence that followed that simple touch.

Tails’ small hand was a gentle anchor on Shadow’s wrist - steady, deliberate, almost defiant against the tension that wrapped the table. And then, like a ripple disturbing glass, the fox withdrew. His movements were careful, cautious, as though afraid the moment might break if he moved too fast. He wiped his fingers on a napkin, his eyes lowering, pretending calm while the tremor of it lingered in the air.

Across the table, Sonic shifted, breaking the fragile stillness with a forced grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “See? Nothing shady,” he said, leaning forward just enough to meet Shadow’s glare. “Just dinner, dude. You can relax before you burn a hole through Tom’s head.”

Knuckles huffed under his breath, voice low and gravelly. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

Sonic’s foot shot out beneath the table - thud - a sharp nudge to the echidna’s leg. Knuckles grunted, scowling, while Sonic gave him a look that said not now.

The refrigerator’s hum returned, filling the silence that followed. And yet, for Shadow, the warmth of that brief touch still ghosted against his wrist - an echo he couldn’t quite shake.

Then, quietly, Shadow sat back down. The movement was measured, restrained - not an act of trust, but of reluctant logic. The fox’s confidence was too exact, too grounded to dismiss. If anyone would have sensed deceit, it would’ve been him.

Across the table, the tension began to unravel. Sonic exhaled, leaning back with a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Tom’s shoulders eased. Even Tails’s tails gave a soft flick, his calm composure rippling through the room like a silent truce. Only Knuckles remained unfazed, still chewing with the same unbothered rhythm as before.

Shadow eyed his plate once more. He didn’t trust humans. He didn’t even trust the fox. 

But he trusted the fox’s intelligence - and that, for now, would have to do.

Tom exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing - but only slightly. The air in the room still felt taut, as though stretched between the hedgehog’s stare and everyone else’s silence. He tried for a smile, small and uncertain. “Shadow, I promise, there’s no trick here. We don’t… do that. We don’t drug our guests.” He forced a weak laugh, gesturing vaguely toward the counter as though the sight of condiment bottles and bread rolls could prove his innocence again. “Not even the ones who look like they could level my house just by glaring at it.”

The joke landed like a stone in water - soft splash, no ripple.

Shadow’s gaze cut to him, slow and deliberate. His expression didn’t shift, but the look was enough to pin Tom in place - not angry, not even threatening, just measured. Cold. A scientist’s stare turned back on its maker.

When he finally spoke, his voice came quiet, low, and precise. “I’ve heard that before.”

The words weren’t loud, yet they carried weight - the kind that silenced even Sonic.

Tom’s hands dropped from their half-raised position, his smile fading as the sentence settled between them. Something in the tone - not accusation, but memory - twisted the air sharp and thin.

Shadow’s eyes drifted to the untouched meal before him, the scent of chili mingling with the ghosts of antiseptic and metal that still lived in his mind. “People said the same thing once,” he continued, his voice steady but distant, like he was speaking to something beyond the room. “They told me to trust them. To sit still. To eat what they gave me. Said it was safe.”

He paused, gaze unfocused, far away now. “It wasn’t.”

Suddenly, the food was the least of his problems. 

No one spoke. Not Sonic. Not Knuckles. Even Tails’ usual composure wavered, his twin tails stilling behind him.

The silence that followed was long - not empty, but listening.

Then, softly, Tails said, “Tom and Maddie are not those people.”

The words were simple, but they reached him. They landed. Shadow blinked once, focus returning like a shutter reopening to light. His eyes shifted toward the fox - analytical, uncertain - before he gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible.

Slowly, he eased back into himself. The movement was deliberate, controlled. He didn’t pick up the food yet, but the storm in his posture had quieted - for now.

Sonic let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and, in typical Sonic fashion, cracked a grin to fill the void. “Well… since nobody’s dying, can we please get back to eating? Chili’s getting cold and that’s basically a crime.”

Knuckles grumbled, “You would think that’s a crime.”

The exchange drew a few strained chuckles - shallow, brittle things that didn’t quite reach the eyes. To anyone else, it might’ve sounded like tension fading. But to Shadow, it was a mask slipping just enough to show the edges beneath.

He caught it immediately - the faint stiffness between Sonic and Knuckles. The rhythm of their banter faltered, one beat too slow. Sonic threw Knuckles a sidelong glance, sharp and fleeting, a spark meant to test the air. Knuckles didn’t return it. Instead, he tore into his food with an almost mechanical precision, each bite a word he refused to speak.

Shadow’s gaze narrowed. He saw the cracks hidden beneath the performance - the small fractures that hummed beneath forced familiarity. The rhythm wasn’t broken, just... off. Like a song played half a note out of key, the melody still recognizable but uneasy to hear. Every glance, every swallowed word, every pause that stretched too long - it all pointed to something festering just beneath the surface.

It didn’t surprise him. Bonds that looked strongest were often the most fragile; the closer the trust, the sharper the break when it came. Whatever rift lingered between them had been there long before his arrival - simmering quietly, too polite to boil over.

And yet, the moment passed. The conversation found its footing again, halting at first, then smoothing into something almost natural. Laughter trickled back in - light, practiced, human.

Only Shadow remained quiet, eyes flicking between the plate, Tails, and the human.

Finally, with a small exhale that wasn’t quite a sigh, he reached for the chili dog.

The first bite was cautious - experimental, like testing a volatile compound. Grease and spice hit his tongue, the tang of mustard and the faint heat of chili powder following close behind. It wasn’t unpleasant… just overwhelming. Human food was always too much.

He set the half-eaten piece down, glancing sidelong toward Sonic. “It’s… tolerable.”

Sonic choked on his drink. “Tolerable? That’s your glowing review?”

Knuckles rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky he didn’t vaporize it.”

Even Tails couldn’t help but smirk, his ears flicking in quiet delight while Shadow merely raised a brow - unimpressed, but no longer entirely distant. “Coming from him, that’s high praise.”

Shadow leaned back slightly, arms folding, his tone smooth and faintly dry. “You all seem very easily impressed.”

What an odd family…

The thought came to him unbidden - quiet, almost disbelieving - as he sat amidst their laughter and careless ease. It was strange, how easily they fell into it. The human and the mobians spoke over one another in an overlapping rhythm of familiarity, a cadence shaped by comfort and time. To Shadow, it felt almost unnatural - harmony born from chaos, and yet somehow… genuine.

His gaze moved between them - Sonic’s reckless grin, Tails’ soft hum as he prodded absent-mindedly at the scraps on his plate, Tom’s tired but unshakably patient smile. And then Knuckles, leaning back in his chair with that heavy-shouldered calm that looked like peace but wasn’t.

Even now, Shadow could sense it - that undercurrent between the hedgehog and the echidna. A faint dissonance beneath the laughter. Sonic would toss out a quip, too sharp around the edges, and Knuckles would reply with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Words that once came easy now carried weight; small, almost imperceptible hesitations that marked where trust had worn thin.

And yet, despite it, they moved around one another like instinct - Sonic bumping Knuckles’ arm when he reached for the sauce, Knuckles wordlessly steadying the bottle when it almost slipped. The tension was there, yes, but so was the bond beneath it - unspoken, familiar, too deep to be undone by pride alone.

Shadow watched it all, silent and unreadable. They shouldn’t have worked, not by any logic he understood - human and mobian, rival and friend, fracture and loyalty intertwined. But still, they orbited each other with the ease of something that refused to break.

Why?

Why would these humans - fragile, selfish creatures - accept them? Why would they open their home, share their table, their laughter? He had seen what humanity was capable of. He had lived it. The deception. The sterile hands. The way a kind voice could hide a scalpel behind it.

And yet… here they were.

The scene played out before him like an old film reel - flickering, unreal, too perfect. He half expected the illusion to stutter and tear apart, to find himself back in cold metal confinement with alarms blaring and Maria’s voice echoing through the static.

But the light was warm. The air was rich with scent - tomatoes, sausage, something faintly sweet. Laughter threaded the silence where once there had been the hum of generators. It was real.

He wanted it to be real.

More than he wanted to admit, Shadow wanted to believe that this wasn’t some fever dream carved by guilt and exhaustion. That he wasn’t still lying half-conscious in that burning pod, circuits melting around him, mind splintering between memory and reality.

He wanted to believe in the possibility - that a Mobian could exist among humans without fear, without chains.

Because the alternative - the memory of another hedgehog, blue instead of black, strapped to a table with electrodes biting into his skin - clawed at something buried deep inside him. The thought alone made his throat tighten, an ache blooming sharp and raw beneath his sternum.

His gaze lingered on Sonic, laughter still caught in the corner of the blue hedgehog’s mouth. For a fleeting, painful heartbeat, the image doubled - Sonic’s face blurred with another’s.

Maria’s voice whispered faintly through his memory. “They’re not all like them, Shadow.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle like dust.

Perhaps.

But even now, sitting in this fragile imitation of peace, he couldn’t let go of the truth carved into him long ago - that humans destroy what they don’t understand.

And Shadow the Hedgehog would never forget that.

Tom, seated at the opposite end of the table, watched in quiet intrigue as Shadow took in the scene with that familiar, unreadable stare - sharp, calculating, as though even laughter were something to be studied before engaged with. The hedgehog sat back slightly, his posture composed but never relaxed, eyes half-lidded in what could almost be mistaken for boredom. Almost.

When Sonic’s poorly timed joke shattered the air, a flicker - quick as a pulse - crossed Shadow’s expression. His palm rose to his face, not quite hiding the faint crease that tugged at the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t a smile, not truly, but the closest thing to one anyone was likely to see. A brief betrayal of composure. A silent admission that, for all his restraint, the absurdity of these moments wasn’t entirely lost on him.

Tom caught the motion and said nothing. Shadow, ever aware, dropped his hand back to the table - composure restored, voice quiet but edged with dry finality.

“Hn. Pathetic joke….”

And though his tone was dismissive, the faint glint beneath his lashes told a different story - one of reluctant amusement, buried deep beneath habit and pride.

Tom let out a soft, knowing chuckle. Yeah, he thought, his sons would show him the ropes here.

But at the break of dawn, long after lunch and before the sun had crested the horizon, Shadow was already awake. His crimson eyes were bloodshot, veins flaring like coals beneath the surface, and his fur bristled with the residual shock of a nightmare.

Fuck - he’d seen her. Maria. Drowned. Limp. Cold. 

Every muscle in his body coiled and trembled, the lingering echo of the nightmare clawing at his mind, leaving him rigid, every sense sharpened against the pre-dawn stillness. That monster - green, relentless, unforgiving - had silenced her. Her final words in his dream, laced with hate, seared themselves into his memory, sharp and bitter, refusing to fade.

Shadow didn’t allow himself to shiver. He didn’t allow himself to falter. Anger and guilt burned beneath his calm exterior, a quiet storm that sharpened his focus rather than consuming him. In the dark, before the world had even stirred, he sat alone with it - every heartbeat measured, every thought precise, every nerve ready.

It was just a dream.

In the near distance, faint taps reached his ears - delicate, uneven, like tiny feet on the floor. A soft shuffle followed, punctuated by a low, resigned groan, as something warm and floppy shifted against the ground.

He followed it downstairs. 

Knuckles was always an early riser. It wasn’t by choice - his body simply refused the stillness of rest once the world began to stir. Long before dawn, when the horizon was still bruised with shadow and the air hung cold and quiet, his eyes would open on their own. No hesitation, no groggy blink against the dark. Just sudden, clear awareness - like some inner alarm, ancient and instinctual, had gone off inside him.

He would lie there for a moment, listening. The faint creak of the house settling. The whisper of wind brushing through the trees. Even here, far from Angel Island, the quiet before sunrise carried the same weight it always had - alert, expectant, alive.

By the time the first sliver of light cut across the windowpane, Knuckles was already up, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. The world wasn’t awake yet - but he was. He always was.

Knuckles’ eyes slid toward the bed where Shadow lay. For a while, he said nothing - just watched. The faint, steady rise and fall of the hedgehog’s chest broke the stillness, dark fur catching what little light crept through the blinds. His breaths came deep and even, though every exhale carried a faint sharpness, like the sound of something held too tightly refusing to break.

Even in rest, there was tension in him - muscles drawn, jaw set, as if sleep itself was a battle he never truly won.

Knuckles didn’t trust the hedgehog - not for a second. There was something coiled beneath that calm exterior, something he couldn’t quite name but could feel, like static before a storm.

He was stoic. Calm, yet perpetually edged with irritation. Impatient to the point of volatility. Suspicious of everything and everyone. Shadow carried silence like a weapon - cold, deliberate, honed - and Knuckles had never learned how to fight something he couldn’t touch.

So he watched him.

Morning, noon, and night, Knuckles’ eyes would find the hedgehog, tracing every small movement, every flicker of expression. He watched for the twitch of a hand, the tightening of a jaw, the faintest shift that might betray intent. His gaze never wavered for long. He was waiting - for the moment Shadow slipped, for the moment his calm cracked, for the first sign that he might turn against them.

Against him.

Because Knuckles had seen too much to take chances. He’d lost too much to risk the safety of what little family he had left - or the jewell that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath his every thought.

He would not let it fall into anyone’s paws. Not while he still drew breath. Not while his hands could still close into fists. Not while he remembered his father’s legacy. 

As long as he stood guard, the Master Emerald would remain untouched - untaken.

And though the stranger had yet to make a move, Knuckles refused to ease his vigilance. Every instinct in him screamed to stay ready. He would not be fooled by silence or civility.

That hedgehog - Shadow - could be one of them. A Chaos Emerald hunter. A mercenary. Another ghost from Mobius with hands too used to taking what wasn’t theirs.

He’d seen the type before - smooth talkers with empty eyes and steady hands, the kind who could feign honor while plotting theft. They always started the same way: polite distance, false gratitude, the illusion of restraint. And then, when the moment came, when trust dulled the edge of caution - they struck.

Shadow fit that mould far too neatly. Everything about him screamed control - the deliberate stillness, the sharp, assessing gaze that missed nothing. He spoke like someone who’d already mapped the conversation three steps ahead, each word chosen with surgical intent. Even his silences were deliberate, heavy enough to press against the walls. It was the kind of quiet that made Knuckles’ instincts bristle - not the calm of peace, but of restraint.

Every movement, every pause, felt like a test. Like Shadow was taking the measure of them all, one heartbeat at a time, waiting for a crack to show.

Knuckles didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. Part of him wanted to drag the hedgehog out by the quills and send him back to whatever shadow he’d crawled from. But another part - the one that hated to admit when he saw use in an enemy - knew better.

Because for all his mystery and menace, Shadow was the only one who seemed to understand the chaos Sonic had stirred. The only one who might actually know how to fix it.

And that, more than anything, unsettled Knuckles most of all.

Knuckles’ fists flexed unconsciously, the worn leather of his gloves creaking faintly. He didn’t like thinking this way, didn’t like suspecting someone who hadn’t done wrong. But experience had carved suspicion into his bones. The incident had. 

He’d learned that kindness could be a weapon. That hesitation could be fatal. And now, as his gaze lingered on Shadow, that lesson whispered through him again like an echo he couldn’t silence.

He’d lost too much by assuming the best in others. 

And he couldn’t afford to lose what little he had left.

He cast another glance toward the dark figure resting across the room.

Dawn had yet to break, but his patrol routine called to him all the same. With a slow, practiced motion, Knuckles swung his legs over the bunk and dropped soundlessly to the floor, the soft thud of his landing swallowed by the quiet hum of the house.

Tails lay curled on the lower bunk, one arm draped over a tangle of blueprints and tools, his tails twitching faintly in sleep. To the right, Sonic sprawled across the temporary rubber mattress - mouth open, one leg kicked free of the blanket, a low snore rumbling out in uneven bursts.

Knuckles lingered for a moment longer, his eyes softening as they traced the quiet rise and fall of sleeping forms. Then, with a quiet exhale, he straightened to his full height. Every movement was measured, deliberate - each step laid with the precision of a creature born to guard what mattered most. Whatever strange, fleeting calm this household had managed to build, he wouldn’t be the one to break it.

Turning toward the door, he moved without a sound, the faint creak of wood yielding under his weight but never complaining. He slipped through the dim hallway, down the stairs, and past the faint glow of the living room. The house was still steeped in predawn quiet. Good - Tom and Maddie were still asleep. He paused only long enough to listen; there was no movement, no muffled voices behind the closed door. Their alarms wouldn’t sound for at least another hour.

He stepped out into the garden,  and the world met him with silence - a stillness that belonged only to those who kept watch. Outside, the air bit colder than he expected. The grass, damp with dew, whispered beneath his boots as he crossed the yard. He inhaled deeply - earth, bark, and the faint trace of salt on the wind. It grounded him. Reminded him of a home far away from home.

He stopped at the fence line, where the trees of the forest began their silent vigil. Dawn had not yet broken; the world still lingered in blue-grey shadow, the kind that blurred the edges of everything it touched. He liked it that way - quiet, unjudging.

But the stillness couldn’t drown thought.

His jaw tightened. The memory pressed at him, unbidden - Sonic’s voice sharp, cutting through the calm like wind through stone. The argument had started small. It always did. A mistake, a disagreement, then something heavier beneath it. The Master Emerald.

Always the Master Emerald.

Sonic thought explaining his way out of it would make it better - he always did. That reckless, good-hearted arrogance of his, the belief that words could smooth over the fractures left behind. That speed and charm alone could fix what was broken.

But Knuckles knew better.

The Emerald wasn’t a trinket to be toyed with or misunderstood. It wasn’t just a relic of the past - it was legacy. Duty. A living pulse that tied him to every guardian before him. The last piece of something sacred that could not, must not, be tampered with.

He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp against the hush of the early morning. His thumb brushed over the ridges of his knuckles, feeling the old ache beneath the skin. A reminder of every fight fought to keep the Emerald whole.

Sonic hadn’t understood. He never could.

“Hey, whoa, hold on! It was an accident!” Sonic had said - voice raw, strained with that mix of guilt and defiance. “You think I wanted to blow up the emerald?” The words still rang in Knuckles’ head, even now. The memory of them stung worse than the act itself.

Because that was the problem - Sonic didn’t understand. He didn’t grasp that this wasn’t about ownership or intent. It was about balance. About the quiet hum of the world that the Master Emerald kept steady. And now, one of its seven fragments lived inside Sonic, pulsing with his heartbeat like a spark torn from the sun.

Knuckles exhaled through his nose, eyes falling shut as a tension line drew deep across his brow. The ache wasn’t just anger - it was something older, heavier.  Maybe that’s what cut deepest: hearing Tails, the one who usually saw beyond the surface, side with Sonic. Hearing him say that Knuckles was chained to his duty, still a prisoner to the rock he’d sworn to guard.

“And it is your duty as the older brother to ensure Sonic is safe before your duty to a crystal!” Tails shot back, launching himself from Sonic’s lap to block Knuckles’ advance. His small frame was fierce, determined, unrelenting.

“An inanimate object that has stolen years from you, Knuckles!” Tails yelled, voice raw, trembling with emotion.

But they didn’t see what he saw.

They didn’t hear the hum that resonated beneath the earth when the Emerald called, or feel the silence that followed when its balance trembled.

Guarding it wasn’t a burden. It was a promise. One he’d chosen, one he’d die keeping.

He sighed defeated, breath curling into the cold air like smoke. The silence pressed against him - heavy, patient, unforgiving. He didn’t regret what he’d said… but he regretted the quiet that came after.

Sonic still laughed. Still cracked jokes. Still carried that impossible energy that filled every room he stepped into. But Knuckles could hear the change beneath it - the space between their words, the hesitation in Sonic’s grin before it reached his eyes. The easy rhythm they’d always had - the trust built through fights and close calls - had faltered. Not broken. Just bent in a way that wouldn’t bend back.

And Knuckles hated how much that mattered.

He flexed his hands, feeling the faint pulse of the Emerald’s power hum somewhere far away, deep in his bones. That bond had been forged long before Sonic had ever shown up. But now part of that power - the Emerald’s heartbeat itself - was inside the hedgehog. Stolen by accident or not, it was wrong. Unnatural. Dangerous.

Sonic had said he could handle it, that he felt fine. That everything was under control.

Knuckles had wanted to believe him.

But he’d seen what Chaos energy could do - how it warped, how it burned through even the strongest of wills. And Sonic… Sonic didn’t understand what it meant to carry something sacred. To be bound to it.

Knuckles’ gaze lifted toward the forest, where the wind stirred the trees like a restless whisper. The world still felt out of rhythm - off balance.

“You’ll get it one day, Sonic,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough. “You’ll see why I can’t let it go.”

But then - like a sudden ripple disturbing the still surface of a pond - Knuckles caught it: a sound from inside the house. Subtle, unfamiliar, and out of place. His instincts prickled. Every muscle coiled as he paused, listening, alert to a presence he couldn’t yet name.

He froze where he stood, ears straining. The house lay bathed in the soft, gray light of dawn, walls quiet but for the occasional creak of settling wood. The sound came again - a faint scrape, almost like fabric brushing against the floor, or claws sliding across the wood.

Knuckles’ eyes narrowed. He shifted his weight, barely a whisper against the grass, instincts screaming caution. Every sense sharpened, the ache in his hands fading into the background as focus consumed him.

Who’s there?  he thought, scanning the windows. Shadows clung to corners, stretching across the rooms like dark tendrils.

The sound repeated - this time a quiet thud from upstairs. 

Then he saw them.

Shadow, silent and precise, huddled towards the couch - crimson eyes blurred and unreadable. Ozzy moved beside him, cautious but deliberate, offering quiet guidance that Shadow barely acknowledged. The sight should have triggered an immediate response, an instinctive leap forward, but something held him back - the angle, the shadows, the fragile weight of the moment.

Observe first.

And then Shadow’s low, controlled voice reached him, slicing through the quiet.

“You must be the pet,” he said to Ozzy, the words casual, almost mundane - but there was an edge in the tone, a note of curiosity that Knuckles didn’t expect.

Knuckles froze, chest tight, letting his presence dissolve into the darkened periphery, unwilling to interrupt, yet unwilling to look away.

Shadow’s hand hovered for a heartbeat before lifting the small metal tag from the dog’s collar. The cool weight rested between his fingers, and his eyes, dull and calculating, caught the faint engraving. Ozzy. The letters were ugly, scratched, like a name carrying a story he hadn’t yet been told.

“Ozzy” He repeated, letting the word hang in the air, tasting it silently.

The creature clacked its teeth together - sharp, deliberate, like the click of a lock being tested - and its tail gave a slow wag to the right. If Shadow hadn’t been sitting in the dark, he might’ve sworn the animal was smiling. Its muzzle curled just enough to bare the faint tips of its canines, white and narrow, jutting out like icicles along the edge of a frozen windowsill.

Shadow hesitated. Every instinct screamed threat.

Something about the posture unsettled him. Teeth, in his experience, were never bared in peace. A show of fang meant hostility, a prelude to violence. On the ARK, it was the stance of survival; in the sterile stare down of G.U.N., it was the only warning one ever got before blood was drawn.

His instincts flared - old reflexes honed in containment and combat. The soft creak of his gloves was barely audible over the low growl that threatened to rise in his throat. Chaos energy simmered just beneath his skin, instinctively aligning, waiting for command, but unresponsive. 

But the attack never came.

The creature merely cocked its head, one ear folding halfway down as the other stood erect, its tail giving a tentative thump against the floor. Its gaze was direct but not predatory - open, inquisitive. It exhaled a soft, huffing noise that broke the tension like static dissipating from the air.

Shadow frowned. The gesture was… incongruous. A paradox of posture - fangs bared, body relaxed, tail moving as if in idle contentment. It defied the logic of aggression or submission. He found himself analyzing it as though it were a code to be decrypted, an enigma that refused to fit neatly into what he knew.

Was it a threat masking itself in civility - or an invitation he didn’t understand?

His gaze narrowed, crimson irises flickering faintly in the dim. He could read machines, data, even people - each told a story through rhythm, tone, motion. But this creature… its story was chaos. Every movement contradicted the next, and yet it radiated no malice.

Then, the dog shifted closer - slowly, cautiously - until its breath brushed against the fabric of his glove. It let out a low whine, a sound that held no venom, only a strange, plaintive warmth. The faintest touch of its nose grazed his palm.

Shadow froze. His first instinct was to recoil, to withdraw from contact he hadn’t invited. But he didn’t. Something in the creature’s gaze disarmed him. Its eyes, wide and guileless, held a kind of clarity he wasn’t used to. No calculation. No fear. No recognition of what he was - or what he’d done.

Shadow couldn’t decide if that made him reckless or fortunate. He had been here a week, long enough to memorize the creak of the stairs, the pattern of footsteps in the hallway, the faint hum of the refrigerator at night - but never once had this creature appeared.

Now, faced with the dog’s open, eager stance, Shadow found himself… uncertain.

The animal was too innocent.

He could still recall the conversation he’d overheard during his first night in the house. Maddie’s voice, hushed but deliberate, had carried through the hallway. “I’m not sure how he’ll react to Ozzy,” she’d said, cautious but not unkind. “The poor thing’s been through enough already.”

Tom’s response had come after a pause, softer, curious. “You think Shadow would hurt him?”

“No,” she’d replied almost instantly, as though the thought alone was unfair. “But Ozzy’s… well, Ozzy. He doesn’t understand boundaries. He jumps, he licks, he barks at his own reflection. Remember Knuckles? He nearly went feral the first time Ozzy ran at him.”

Tom chuckled under his breath, though there was a thread of unease beneath it. “Yeah. I thought Knuckles was gonna punch my dog into another time zone.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Maddie’s tone softened again, thoughtful now. “Shadow’s still healing. I don’t want him startled. Let’s keep Ozzy in the garden during the day for now. Just until Shadow gets used to him. It’s safer for both of them.”

“You really think he’ll come around?” Tom asked, uncertain.

She hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know. He’s… guarded. But I’ve seen the way he watches things - like he’s cataloguing every sound, every breath. People like that - ” she paused, correcting herself, “ - beings like that - they notice gentleness. Eventually.”

Shadow hadn’t moved at the time, but the words had stuck.

In the faint spill of lamplight, Shadow could hear the creature’s slow, unhurried breaths - a rhythm so steady it seemed to anchor the quiet itself. Then, without warning, Ozzy gave a soft huff and collapsed onto his side, legs folding awkwardly before he rolled to expose his belly - open, unarmoured, waiting. The motion was so casual, so recklessly vulnerable, that Shadow almost thought it a trick of the light.

No creature in its right mind would bare itself before an unknown - not to him. Yet there Ozzy lay, tail giving another lazy thump against the floorboards, golden eyes blinking up with the kind of faith that expected nothing in return.

The sight unsettled him. Trust, without reason. Acceptance, without.

He didn’t move. Every muscle beneath his fur was wound tight, ready to spring at the slightest provocation, but the dog offered none. Instead, it only regarded him with a calm, open gaze that made his instincts falter. The lack of fear was… disarming.

For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, someone - something - looked at him without expectation, without reverence, without the weight of who he’d been made to be.

And Shadow, weapon of a forgotten cause, found himself staring back, uncertain of how to exist beneath that kind of gentleness.

Taking a measured glance around, Shadow found the house emptied of its daylight pulse - hollowed and still, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. The echo of laughter, the dull tread of footsteps, even the faint hum of appliances had faded into something weightless and strange. A world between hours. A quiet that asked to be filled - and for once, he didn’t hate it.

Something stirred in him then, fragile and unwelcome - a flicker of courage, or maybe something close to curiosity. With deliberate grace, he rose from the couch and sank to one knee beside Ozzy, who still lay sprawled on his back, chest lifting and falling in the rhythm of unguarded trust. The dog’s eyes cracked open, unafraid, as if even in half-sleep he knew no harm would come.

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “Try biting, and you’ll regret it,” he said, voice soft but cutting - not quite a threat, not quite a warning. The sound carried through the quiet like a blade drawn slow from its sheath, precise and measured.

And still, Ozzy didn’t flinch. He only wagged his tail once, lazily, as if to call the bluff. Shadow exhaled, slow and defeated, then reached forward - his gloved hand hovering just above the dog’s fur - as if touching trust itself might cause it to break.

And when his palms finally met the creature’s flank, the breath that escaped him was not merely exhalation - it was release. It slipped through his teeth like something long confined, a ghost of tension drawn out from the marrow of his being. For a fleeting instant, Shadow felt the weight of his own restraint collapse inward, armour buckling beneath a quiet, unbidden surrender.

The warmth beneath his gloves startled him - tangible, living, almost

impossibly soft. Ozzy’s fur rose and fell with each untroubled breath, his pulse a steady cadence against Shadow’s palm. There was no fear in it, no hesitation. Just a living rhythm untouched by suspicion or loss. And somehow, that frightened him more than any weapon ever could.

To be met without wariness, without memory - it dismantled something carefully built. The dog didn’t see a weapon, nor a remnant of Ark’s design. He saw only a presence, wordless and uncertain, and accepted it as truth. The notion struck him like a blow - this strange, almost alien form of trust.

Shadow’s chest constricted. The act of gentleness felt perilous, like stepping onto glass - one wrong motion and it might all shatter. His fingers trembled once before they steadied, brushing through fur that radiated an uncomplicated warmth he’d forgotten could exist.

It wasn’t peace. Not yet. But it was something dangerously close - a fragile, flickering reprieve. And for the first time in a long while, Shadow did not retreat from it.

Then, without warning, the moment fractured. Ozzy gave a sleepy groan, rolled to one side, and his head struck the leg of the coffee table with a dull thud. The pencil holder perched on top wobbled, tipped, and spilled its contents in a clattering rain of felt-tip pens that scattered across the floor like startled insects.

The noise hit him like a gunshot. In an instant, that fragile calm shattered. Shadow’s muscles tensed; his hand recoiled to his chest, movement sharp and defensive, eyes flaring with an instinct honed by far too many years of survival.

Silence followed - taut, ringing, unnatural. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Ozzy blinked up at him, utterly unbothered, paws giving an idle kick against the rug as though the chaos meant nothing at all. Shadow, by contrast, sat motionless in the dim wash of light, every line of his body drawn tight, his pulse a deep and unrelenting drumbeat - the echo of instincts that refused to quiet, of ghosts that never truly slept.

After a long moment, Ozzy yawned - a great, unceremonious sound - and decided the incident was no longer worth his attention. He rose, gave a careless shake that sent his fur rippling, and padded toward the dog bed by the fireplace. With a sigh, he collapsed into it, curling once before settling into contented silence.

Shadow exhaled slowly, the sound low and weary. Around him, pens lay strewn like fallen debris - the aftermath of a peace he hadn’t known how to hold. And now, the house was still again, leaving him alone with the soft crackle of the wind outside and the faint, mocking rhythm of his own heartbeat.

It was as if the world itself was mocking him for thinking, even for a heartbeat, that he could find calm here.

He stared at the mess for a moment longer, crimson eyes narrowing faintly. Order had to be restored - that much he could manage. Bracing one heel against the leg of the couch, he pushed himself forward across the smooth wooden floor, refusing to waste the energy of standing and crouching. The motion was calculated, mechanical - his way of preserving what strength remained.

Maddie’s words echoed in his head, the soft firmness of her voice cutting through memory: “You can walk, Shadow, but take it easy. Your body’s still healing slower than it should.”

He let out a low groan as he came to a stop beside the scattered pens, the sound rough and quiet - a reluctant admission of fatigue. He was a one-man unit: soldier, strategist, executioner. He didn’t take orders, didn’t follow anyone’s command. Yet here he was, confined to the gentleness of recovery, to the slow, suffocating rhythm of being looked after. The thought of it burned beneath his ribs - the constant watchfulness, the soft concern in Maddie’s eyes, the quiet restraint they all expected of him. It was intolerable.

He loathed this dependence - this fragile shell of vulnerability that clung to him like a scar that refused to fade. Every careful step, every reminder to “take it easy,” felt like an insult to what he once was. A weapon reduced to something breakable. Weak.

But even as that thought coiled bitterly through his mind, another truth lingered beneath it - one colder, sharper. He couldn’t afford recklessness. Not now. Maria’s name still echoed in the back of his mind, her memory in his dream the only constant through the haze. To reach her, to finish what he’d started, he would need to be stronger than this… stronger than himself.

So he forced the tension from his jaw, exhaled through his nose, and reached for the fallen pens with mechanical precision - one task, one motion, one step closer to control.

Her true wish echoed through the hollow corridors of his mind, bleeding into every sleepless hour like a half-remembered prayer - “Bring hope and happiness to humanity… not destruction born of vengeance.” The words pulsed through his nightmares, not as comfort, but as a haunting reminder - a command he could never quite live up to, and yet could never abandon.

A reminder of everything he was meant to be, and everything he had failed to become.

And then, like the sting of a blade drawn through the dark, came the other voice - cruel, furious, untrue but unmistakably hers.  “How could you leave me to die? After everything I gave you? You’re a monster… an alien freak!”

The words struck like shrapnel, cutting deep and without mercy. The echo of her rage fractured something inside him - a phantom wound torn open by memory’s cruel precision. It wasn’t real. He knew that. But it felt real - her voice still trembling through the hollow of his chest, her pain still bleeding into his own.

That dream was what had dragged him from sleep - Maria’s screams threading through the dark, her anguish twisting like a knife against his ribs. It had been unbearable, suffocating - to stand there, powerless, watching her die a thousand times over in the prison of his own mind.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

Not ever.

With a controlled breath, Shadow gathered the last of the pens, slotting them neatly into their holder. The motion was careful, quiet - a small act of order against the chaos clawing at him. He set the container farther back on the table, ensuring it couldn’t fall again, as though that single precaution could anchor the fragile stillness he was fighting to keep.

And somewhere, half-hidden in the shadowed corner beyond the kitchen wall, Knuckles watched in silence - unseen, unreadable. He didn’t know why he lingered, or what he was hoping to find in the hedgehog’s stillness. But as he did, something unfamiliar stirred in him - a faint, uneasy flicker of doubt taking root where certainty once lived.

The hedgehog was already beginning to fit into the house’s rhythm - too seamlessly, too naturally. And in that quiet, Knuckles saw what the dog must have sensed long before any of them did: that rare, buried gentleness beneath all the armor. The kind of softness Shadow himself didn’t seem to know he still possessed.

Shadow turned away without a word, then, his footsteps barely whispering against the stairs. He didn’t so much as glance toward Knuckles - pretending, with cold precision, that he hadn’t seen him at all. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him, a silent storm he carried up into the dark. 

Chapter Text

Shadow didn’t wait for the argument to start. He turned on his heel and left, steps falling in steady, controlled echoes down the stairs - each one heavy with the frustration he refused to show. The creak of the old floorboards followed him like a reluctant echo, while Sonic and Knuckles’ voices tangled faintly behind him - dull, predictable, like the low growl of a storm that refused to pass.

He didn’t so much as glance back. The afternoon light slanted through the window, spilling in fractured gold across the walls as a stray breeze slipped through and brushed against his quills. If he noticed Sonic’s gaze following him, he gave no sign of it - pretending, perhaps, that he hadn’t felt the weight of it at all.

For a moment, silence filled the space he’d left - thick and unmoving. Then Sonic exhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest as his glare found Knuckles from across the room.

“You’re blowing it out of proportion,” he said, tone edged with irritation. “He doesn’t need to be supervised around the clock, Knucks.”

“You can’t change my mind.” Knuckles’ tone left no room for argument as he brushed past, the heavy scrape of his boots against the floor marking his resolve. “I’m coming with you.”

“He’s been here nearly two weeks, dude! If he was gonna pull something, he’d have done it by now!” Sonic’s gaze followed him, tension coiling through his frame as his fists clenched and unclenched, a silent rhythm of agitation he couldn’t quite hide. He wanted to argue more - to throw back one of his usual quips - but the words caught somewhere behind his teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Knuckles’ loyalty; it was that the echidna’s version of it came wrapped in suspicion, and Sonic had seen enough of that directed at Shadow to know how fast it could turn ugly.

He let out a breath that sounded more like resignation than anything else, his shoulders sinking as Knuckles ignored him and reached for the door.

“You’re being way too overprotective,” he said at last, the usual confidence in his voice softening into something wearier. “It’s kinda off-putting, y’know?” he trailed behind sluggishly. 

“Agree to disagree,” Knuckles said with a shrug, already moving down the dim hallway after the fading silhouette of their new arrival.

“He won’t hurt me,” Sonic shot back, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air. His tail bristled, static crawling through his quills as irritation sparked under his skin. “You do remember I’m the key to his goals, right?”

Knuckles didn’t slow. “Pre-prepared plans always shift,” he called over his shoulder. “They can warp. And maybe,” he added, glancing briefly back, eyes glinting in the half-light, “so can the way he gets to that goal.”

Sonic let out a sharp scoff, disbelief radiating off him like heat from asphalt. His quills puffing as he shook his head, a bitter half-smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, though the edge in his voice betrayed more hurt than humor. 

Knuckles didn’t flinch. His arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowing with quiet conviction. “And you trust too easily,” he shot back, the words landing like a punch - not meant to wound, but to wake. “The world’s not as simple as you make it out to be, Sonic. Not everyone plays fair. You let your guard down around the wrong person, and that’s it - game over.”

“Everyone deserves faith,” Sonic murmured, quieter this time.

“Keep handing out faith like that, and one day it’s gonna break something you can’t mend” Knuckles said, stopping at the bottom of the steps. He turned, his tone lowering to something that almost sounded like regret. His eyes softened as he caught the flicker of heartbreak shadowing Sonic’s face - that raw, unguarded look he wasn’t meant to see. “It’s not worth the hit, Sonic.”

Sonic gave a small laugh, dry but not mocking. His chin tilted up just enough to hide the sting. “Sounds like you think I can’t handle myself.”  

“You can handle anything. I know you can, I’ve seen you do it.” Knuckles hissed “But your heart’s your greatest strength - and the thing that’ll cut you deepest. I just don’t wanna see it bleed.” 

Sonic met the gleam of Knuckles’ eyes - that piercing amethyst glare that caught the light like cut glass. It wasn’t just sternness that stared back at him, but something rawer, quieter - please, just listen to me. Once. For my sake. The unspoken plea hit harder than any punch Knuckles could throw.

He felt his throat tighten. His mouth opened on instinct, ready to fire back, to challenge, to do something - but no sound came. The words, sharp and defiant only a heartbeat ago, died somewhere between his chest and his pride. Because beneath the tension, beneath the brittle silence, there was still the echo of that argument - the one they’d never resolved.

It hung between them like a suspended blade, invisible but ever-present, ticking in his mind like a timebomb waiting for one wrong word. Sonic hated how it made him hesitate - how it made him doubt. He wasn’t supposed to freeze. He was supposed to move.

But facing Knuckles now, with that mix of frustration and unspoken care written across his face, Sonic could do neither.

Knuckles exhaled through his nose, mistaking Sonic’s silence for surrender. “He’ll be out front,” he said quietly, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves. “Let’s not stall.”

Sonic didn’t answer. He just watched Knuckles go - and for once, the sound of retreating footsteps hit harder than the silence left behind. After a beat, he moved, jogging after him. The chill that slipped through a cracked window caught in his lungs, threading with the faint, metallic scent of last night’s rain against the house’s lingering warmth.

He rounded the corner - and stopped short, skidding mid-step as surprise snagged him before momentum could carry him further.

Shadow stood ahead, half-turned in the light, the dark edge of his silhouette cutting clean against the hallway wall. Maddie towered beside him, the difference in height almost jarring - Shadow barely reaching her waist, yet somehow carrying an unspoken gravity between them.

“What is that?” The question rumbled out of Shadow, rough but laced with a rare flicker of wonder. He lifted a hand, pointing toward the air ahead - as if his own quills might be hiding the answer from him.

Maddie’s grin wavered on the edge of playful affection, a spark of mischief softening the sharpness of her features - fierce, yet somehow endearing. “A friend of Tom’s, Wade, just moved,” She said, voice warm but brisk, carrying the quiet confidence of someone used to explaining things to those who needed patience. “He packed up a few things for the boys - left it all for them to pick and choose from.”

Crouching down, Maddie rummaged through the worn canvas bag, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the quiet. After a moment, she straightened, something small cradled in her hands. She extended it toward Shadow, her movements gentle, deliberate - almost careful.

The object itself was hidden behind the dark outline of Shadow’s figure, swallowed by his silhouette and the faint light spilling through the window. From where Sonic stood, it was just out of sight - maddeningly close, yet obscured enough to spark a flicker of intrigue deep in his chest.

His gaze flicked between Maddie’s open hand and Shadow’s unreadable stance, curiosity starting to hum beneath his skin. What’s she holding? The question pulsed in his mind, quick and bright, tugging at him with every second Shadow didn’t move.

He approached slowly as the hedgehog said: “You’re giving me - ” Shadow’s voice was hesitant, hands reaching slowly toward the object as if it were laced with danger. He lifted it delicately, like it might bite, his movements guarded.

Sonic leaned forward without realizing it, pulse quickening with that restless, childlike urge to know. The air between them felt charged, as though the smallest motion might reveal the secret - or shatter the moment entirely. And then he saw it - the edge of fluffed corners peeking from beneath Shadow’s grip. His mind snapped into rapid motion, linking shapes and textures like pieces of a puzzle. Recognition struck him in a sudden, almost childish flash. 

“A toy?” Sonic blurted from behind, the word slipping out before he could stop it. Both Shadow and Maddie turned at once - two sets of eyes fixing on him, one startled, the other amused.

Maddie’s smile softened, corners lifting with gentle correction. “A gift,” she said, tone careful, patient, almost reverent in its simplicity as she glanced back to Shadow. 

Sonic’s tail flicked behind him, a restless metronome to the thoughts tangling in his head. Relief hit first - sharp and fleeting - chased by the surprise that someone like Shadow, of all people, might care enough to try. To accept. To understand the gesture. To reach toward connection, even when isolation had been his default.

The realization settled in Sonic’s chest like a weight he didn’t quite know how to carry, leaving a warmth that prickled and expanded all at once. Beneath it, the familiar tug returned - the ache that always surfaced when someone offered kindness without expecting anything in return, tender and raw, and entirely unearned.

He should’ve felt grateful for Shadow. He did. But something uglier threaded through the warmth, souring it before he could stop it. That green-tinted feeling he hated - envy. It slithered in quiet and cruel, whispering things he didn’t want to hear. Maybe it was the shard in him. Maybe it was just him.

Lately, it was getting harder to tell the difference. That darker side - the one that surfaced when the world stopped spinning fast enough for him to outrun it - seemed to have more say than it used to. And standing there, stuck with this and something he couldn’t name, Sonic couldn’t help but wonder when exactly he’d started losing the race against himself.

But as he watched, Sonic forced the feeling down - buried it deep beneath a grin that almost felt genuine.

Shadow stood there, half-frozen, his crimson eyes slightly widened as if the moment itself was too delicate to touch. He looked caught between disbelief and something fragile - something that might’ve been gratitude, if he knew how to show it. The kind of fragile that wasn’t weakness, but the fear of being seen.

Sonic’s chest eased. He was glad. Genuinely glad. Happier for Shadow than he would’ve been for himself had Maddie placed that gift in his own hands. Shadow had been through so much - too much - and for once, it felt like the universe was giving him a breath instead of another blow.

Images flickered behind Sonic’s eyes - pieces of the past few weeks stitched together like film reels that still hurt to watch.

He remembered dinner - the way silence had fallen over the table like a dropped weight the moment Shadow’s glare met his dad’s. The air had turned heavy, sharp at the edges, pressing against his chest until even Knuckles - Knuckles - froze mid-bite, unsure how to move in the thick tension.

He remembered the nights after, too - catching glimpses of Shadow curled up in the bed he never wanted, his body drawn tight, folding inward as if trying to disappear. The walls around him weren’t visible, but Sonic could feel them - cold, metallic, thick. The kind you build when the world’s given you too many reasons to.

And then there was that morning - Sonic sitting on the roof, watching through the window - when Shadow had snapped, his voice cutting through the air at Tails for daring to speak a name Sonic still didn’t know. The sound had hit like steel, sharp and clean, but beneath it, Sonic had heard something else - a crack, faint but unmistakable. A sound that wasn’t anger at all, but hurt trying too hard to hide.

Shadow bore more scars than the ones etched across his skin. Sonic could see them in everything - the tautness of his posture, the way every movement was precise yet restrained, as though he was braced for something to go wrong. Even stillness looked like tension with him; a coil held tight beneath the surface.

It showed in his voice, too - the way words left him clipped and deliberate, never wasted, never soft. And in his eyes, constantly scanning the edges of the room, mapping corners, doors, escape routes, as if safety was something that always needed to be earned.

There was something haunting in that vigilance - a fragility disguised as control. Paranoia masquerading as calm. Sonic had seen fear before, but this was different. This was learned. The kind carved into you by years of surviving things you shouldn’t have had to.

And Sonic understood. Shadow deserved this gentleness. Deserved patience over pressure, kindness over expectation. After everything, he’d earned the right to be treated like someone worth saving - even if Sonic didn’t know what kind of storm he’d survived to end up here.

Still, deep down, the ache lingered - that restless, impossible longing he couldn’t quite shake.

Shadow, however, looked anything but reassured at the gift. His dark eyes studied the plush toy as though trying to make sense of the foreign concept, a flicker of confusion and wariness lingering across his features.

“It has the same stripes as you, just in pink,” Maddie continued, oblivious to the way Shadow’s gaze lingered on the softness of the toy. “I think it suits you.”

The hedgehog’s hands tightened slightly around it, still unsure, still hesitant, yet somehow unwilling to let go. He glanced at Sonic, who gave him a small smile, his expression patient, gentle, and entirely without expectation.

For a heartbeat, it seemed he might actually keep it. 

But then Shadow shifted, and a new expression settled over his face - calm, unreadable, almost impenetrable - a stillness that fractured the warm tenor of the moment.

“I… can’t accept it.”

Before anyone could respond, Shadow lifted the toy by one corner and returned it to Maddie’s startled hands, his movements deliberate, controlled - as if he were pushing away more than just the plush itself. He stepped back slightly, as though distance could shield him from the weight of their gazes. And, Sonic’s ears flicked nervously, a mix of surprise, frustration, and quiet understanding stirring in his chest.

Shadow, for as long as they had known him, had never been one to take what was offered freely. He never assumed. He never asked. He just… existed behind walls Sonic couldn’t quite read, his thoughts folded inward like secret blueprints of some uncharted mind. Sonic frowned, remembering how stubbornly Shadow had refused help with even the simplest things - changing his wrappings, accepting guidance, sharing space without retreating. It was familiar territory, this careful, silent deflection, and yet seeing it unfold still tightened something in Sonic’s chest. When the words finally left Shadow’s lips, they landed exactly as expected, and Sonic’s own pressed together, a quiet acknowledgment of the distance Shadow always kept.

“No, really,” Maddie said firmly, stepping forward to close some of the space between them. She held the toy suspended in the air, and Shadow’s fingers hovered just before it, caught in the tense limbo between refusal and acceptance. Her expression softened into sympathetic concern, but her tone remained steady, resolute.

“If you’re worried - I don’t need anything from you in return,” she said, hands steady as she mildly shook the extended toy again. “This isn’t a trade. It’s just… for you.” Her dark gaze met his without wavering. “I wanted to do something nice, so you’d feel more welcome here. That’s it. Nothing else.” 

He studied her with the precision of a mathematician dissecting a complex equation, his gaze hardened and cloaked, shrouded behind a haze of suspicion. His eyes flicked repeatedly from the toy to Sonic, scanning for any hint of deception, testing the other Mobian’s expression as if to determine whether Maddie’s offer was genuine or merely a bluff.

Sonic nodded silently when Shadow made no move, his calm, encouraging presence like a tether in the tense air. Shadow’s body froze, rigid as ice, a living sculpture of conflict, his hand hovering uncertainly over the toy still. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifted it, then set it gently back into Maddie’s open palm. Hesitation coursed through him, a tangle of instinct and reason, the notion of accepting something freely so foreign it almost felt wrong.

He glanced again at Sonic, searching for any sign that keeping it would be a mistake. None came. Sonic’s quiet patience, the gentle tilt of his head, the faint encouragement in his eyes - it was enough to unsettle the carefully maintained walls around Shadow’s heart.

“Fine.” Finally, with a slow, swiped motion, Shadow’s fingers closed fully around the plush. He lifted it into his arms, not out of joy, not entirely, but out of reluctant acknowledgment - an obligation tinged with the tiniest spark of desire he wouldn’t admit. His quills twitched imperceptibly, the barest hint of a softening passing over him, as if the gift carried more than just fabric and stuffing.

He didn’t thank her. He never did. 

But either way, Sonic’s grin broadened, subtle and triumphant. His envy now, forgotten. “See? Not so bad. You’re welcome,” he jested, though his eyes stayed on Shadow, patient, sensing the quiet honesty behind the hedgehog’s reluctant acceptance. 

“So, yeah. Go on. Enjoy it. You earned it… sorta.”

Shadow held the toy carefully in his hands, turning it over slowly, as though each angle might reveal some hidden trap. He spun it upside down, tilting it as if examining its seams and stripes like he might a piece of technology. The softness of the fur made him flinch ever so slightly, as though it had its own weight, its own intention. His fingers traced the edges, hesitant, brushing against the pink stripes. It was almost comical in its innocence, yet Shadow treated it as if it were something precious - or dangerous - all at once.

Sonic paused, leaning a little closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And hey - don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you actually liked it.”

“Shut up,” Shadow hissed at Sonic, letting the words fall low, his glare cutting through the other hedgehog with all the precision of a hawk watching prey.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth, there and gone again before it could take shape. Maddie caught it anyway, her own smile soft with approval, and Sonic grinned as he added with mock solemnity, “I mean, you can’t just be a grumpy shadow all the time. Even shadows deserve a little fluff.”

Before Shadow could protest though, a deep, rolling voice boomed from outside, cutting through the quiet tension like thunder. “Hurry up! We’re losing daylight!”

Shadow's dark eyes narrowed in its direction, the shadow of annoyance flickering across his features, but he didn’t move to argue. Even he could feel the pull of the outside world, the dwindling sun painting long, golden streaks across the floorboards. The command was clear, urgent - and no amount of hesitation or pride could deny it.

Shadow glanced down at the toy one last time, then carefully returned it to Maddie’s hands. “I’ll leave him with you,” he said, voice clipped but steady.

Maddie’s eyes softened, and she hugged it to her chest with a nod. “I’ll take care of him,” she murmured.

Sonic leaned against the doorway on his way out, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Wait a second… you’ve already decided the toy’s gender?” he asked, eyebrows wiggling mischievously. “When are we gonna find out its name?”

Shadow’s gaze snapped up, sharp and dangerous as he blushed. Sonic yelped, barely dodging a swift kick aimed squarely at his legs. “Hey! Okay, okay!” Sonic laughed nervously, hands raised in surrender, his grin just as wide.

Baby steps. Baby steps, Sonic told himself, the words looping in his head like a quiet mantra.

He watched as Shadow brushed past him, that familiar aura of cold composure still clinging to him - but thinner now, cracked in places where warmth had begun to seep through. The sunlight caught on the edge of Shadow’s quills as he stepped outside, cutting toward a clearly unimpressed Knuckles waiting by a tree. 

Sonic’s chest tightened with something close to pride - not loud, not success, but real. It wasn’t victory, not yet, but it was progress. Every small moment mattered: the hesitation before rejecting the gift, the faint softening in his face, the fact he hadn’t completely shut them out.

For someone like Shadow, trust wasn’t built in leaps. It was earned in quiet, stubborn inches. And Sonic was willing to take every one of them.

Sonic’s legs itched with the frustration of confinement, the invisible chains of house arrest gnawing at him even as he forced himself to keep pace. Maybe a week - or more, courtesy of parental decree - remained before he could reclaim even a shred of freedom, and the thought festered like a buzz in the back of his mind. Yet, unspoken rules held a peculiar loophole: no one had explicitly forbidden him to follow, so in the strictest technicality, he was untouchable!

With a grin that was equal parts defiance and mischief, he trailed alongside Knuckles, who marched ahead with the relentless, almost militaristic precision of someone accustomed to authority - every step echoing a silent drumbeat of determination. While Shadow, as always, cast a long, brooding glower at the world around him just a step beyond the throng, a living testament to restraint and lethal patience.

“Where exactly is this electricity box?” Knuckles called, his voice carrying sharp over the distance.

“Near the lake!” Sonic shouted back, his words tumbling through the air with practiced ease.

Today marked the crucial test. D-Day for the experiment that would determine whether the power lines could serve as a compromise for Shadow’s chaos inhibitor override. Sonic had gleaned that detail from Tail, slipping it into memory while Knuckles wasn’t watching, a quiet advantage that he tucked away like a secret weapon.

They advanced through the forest towards the power box under Tail’s explicit instructions, each step executed with careful deliberation. He’d outlined the proper sequence for when they get there for the disassembly, specifying the alignment of components and the necessary precautions to maintain structural and electrical integrity. The procedure for connecting the router to the energy source was explained in terms of current flow, feedback regulation, and load stabilization, emphasizing the need to prevent surges or uncontrolled discharge.

Tail had also provided detailed safety protocols, including proper grounding, maintaining dielectric clearances, and avoiding contact with conductive surfaces, all to minimize the risk of electrical arcing or accidental electrocution. Every action was to be performed with measured precision, ensuring that the transfer and handling of energy occurred within safe operational parameters.

And yet, despite the detailed lecture, Sonic’s memory had condensed it into one critical rule: “Do not sever the live wire. Any disturbances to it will plunge the town into a complete blackout.” 

Simple enough, right? Cut a few wires, attach a few connectors, and follow the procedure. Shadow probably remembered all the nuances. Sonic just had to…not blow everything up.

But as Sonic’s mind flickered to the image of his younger brother - retreating just moments before Sonic and Knuckles nearly collided in a tempest of clashing opinions - he couldn’t shake the memory of how utterly drained the fox had appeared. Tails, small and wiry, shoulders slumped as if carrying the invisible weight of the world, eyes rimmed with fatigue that no amount of sleep seemed to erase. Sonic could practically feel the tremor in his brother’s pulse in the air, the subtle tremble in his fingers as he adjusted settings, recalibrated modules, and scribbled frantic calculations onto scraps of paper.

The child had been operating in a constant state of hyperfocus, project upon project, each one a meticulous labyrinth of mechanics and circuitry demanding precision and patience. Not that there were any explicit deadlines - they were abstract, imagined, born entirely of Tails’ perfectionist anxiety - but Sonic knew the fox’s mind: it fretted, spiraling into meticulous timelines and imagined catastrophes with relentless insistence.

Sonic could almost hear the mental gears grinding, saw the tension knotting into the delicate muscles of his brother’s neck, the habitual bite of a lip that marked the edge of both genius and torment.

But, It wasn’t merely the projects themselves that had him strained - it was Sonic. There was the emerald. The cursed, shimmering shard lodged where he could feel its hum beneath his skin - the epicenter of Tail’s mania.

He wanted it extracted swiftly, surgically, with the meticulous reverence of a master jeweler handling a gem whose rarity made it almost sacred. Yet where logic usually held sway, it twisted into fixation. Tails worried over its precise alignment, its potential to destabilize Sonic’s fragile physiology, the atomic symphony vibrating inside him, every pulse a reminder of danger. Sonic was no longer merely a brother or companion in this calculation - he was a vessel, a living crucible of volatile energy, and Tails’ mind refused to leave that unchecked.

Shadow’s request loomed on the periphery as well - another unchecked task in a list that never seemed to shrink. He hadn’t seen much movement on it, though he could tell Tails’ focus was already stretched thin - split between the chaos simmering inside Sonic, the ‘machine’ (Whatever that meant) taking shape under his hands, Waking Shadow’s chaos, and whatever secrets he kept digging out of the Ark files.

Sonic knew how much Tails hated delays, how he bristled at uncertainty - and most of all, how the thought of Sonic getting hurt twisted something tight in him. Especially when the thing pulsing at the heart of it all was still so raw, so volatile, so not of this world.

And he could see how the parasite inside him radiated its influence outward, not just feeding on his brother’s energy but warping the very space around him - every twitch of muscle, every shallow breath pulled Tails deeper into a vortex of anxious vigilance, as if the emerald’s pulse dictated the rhythm of his mind.

It was why he hadn’t said anything yet - about the sudden lapses of power in his chest, about how it felt like a bubble churning and expanding all at once in his throat. It burned, stung in an unfamiliar way, mildly painful but impossible to ignore. He wouldn’t have mentioned it on a normal day, if the cause wasn’t so obvious. But now…he felt he should, and yet couldn’t.

Tail’s plate was already overflowing with work that needed clearing. He didn’t need to add the appearance of this complication to it.

Just bear with it, Sonic, he told himself, forcing calm where there was none. Quietly, he wished that when today’s storm finally passed, his brother might at last sink into something like peace - even if only for a moment, even if only temporarily.

Knuckles’ worry was a silent current, taut and unyielding, vibrating through the air like the low hum of a tensioned string. Sonic could feel it without a single word passing between them, a gravity pressing against his chest. His eyes traced the uneven soil beneath his feet - clumps of earth disturbed, the dust catching faint glints of light - before lifting to the rigid silhouette of his elder brother.

The subtle stiffness in his posture, the quiet set of his jaw, spoke volumes more than speech ever could. Sonic swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing down, and the thought slipped unbidden into his mind: He really is such a burden, isn’t he?

Shadow was the only one who seemed…unshakable. Composed, precise, a shadow moving within shadows. His eyes flicked occasionally to the emerald nestled in Sonic’s chest, unblinking, calculating - measuring every subtle pulse, every micro-twitch, every shallow breath as if cataloguing it for some unseen ledger. There was no flinch, no tremor, no hint of panic - only cold, clinical control, a predator’s focus honed to absolute efficiency. And that stillness, that lethal serenity, made Sonic’s own heart beat thrum a little faster, a throb pulled taut by admiration and something more instinctual.

Sonic felt exposed under those eyes, a rare vulnerability bleeding through the cracks of his practiced bravado. He couldn’t hide the slight grimaces, the winces that slipped past his teeth when the chaos of the moment clawed at his lungs. Shadow saw it all, and the awareness of it - of being read so completely - sent a shiver down Sonic’s spine, both unnerving and strangely grounding.

Sonic couldn’t help but study him in return, trying to parse the enigma of Shadow’s expressionless face. He wanted to close the distance. Wanted to step past the caution, the quiet wariness that clenched his stomach like cold iron, and let the bond form - because somehow, in some unexplainable way, he knew he could trust him. It was absurd, reckless even, and part of him screamed that the hedgehog in black could turn on him in a heartbeat, the emerald in his chest a temptation too great to ignore. He didn’t know the guy for Chao’s sake!

Yet the part that mattered most - the part that wasn’t logical - urged him to follow, to stay near, to match the rhythm of Shadow’s silent steps.

Sonic’s tail flicked against the wind as he forced himself to quicken, to measure each stride alongside the brooding figure ahead. The forest seemed heavier when Shadow moved through it, shades of black bending subtly around him, light shifting like water over stone. Sonic’s chest tightened, a subtle, pinched thrill that reminded him of everything at stake - and of the fact that, no matter what, he didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, right now, in Shadow’s orbit.

The instinct was maddening. It demanded prudence, yet whispered safety. Wariness, yet an inexplicable trust. Sonic knew he was flirting with a gamble he didn’t fully understand - but for some reason, the risk felt…right. Shadow wasn’t just a figure ahead of him in the daylight; he was a tether, a guide, a challenge, and a reassurance all at once.

And Sonic followed, heart hammering, adrenaline sparking along the edges of his thoughts, each step a careful negotiation between fear and instinctive trust. He ignored Knuckles’ relentless warnings, the blunt admonitions about Shadow being “dangerous” that had echoed in his ears like a stubborn drumbeat. Every rational part of his mind screamed caution, every instinct screamed to keep distance - but his gut, unyielding and insistent, overruled them. Somehow, impossibly, it demanded that he trust Shadow, that he move closer anyways.

And despite the danger, despite every shred of logic, all Sonic knew was that he wanted - needed - to be near him, know him, drawn by a force he couldn’t name or resist.

Sonic could feel the invisible chasm yawning wider with every step toward Shadow though, each stride forward met by an almost instinctive recoil. The barrier around Shadow was unyielding, a silent fortress of discipline and unreadable intent. He ached to breach it, to lean into the fragile trust he sensed simmering beneath the surface, but every effort collided with a wall he could not scale.

Words lodged in his throat, twisting any attempt at casual conversation into stilted, fumbling gestures. Shadow barely registered them - if he noticed at all - or perhaps he simply chose not to, maintaining that cool, impenetrable distance that both frustrated and fascinated Sonic in equal measure.

But after a long minute of shared silence, Shadow’s voice sliced cleanly through Sonic’s drifting thoughts, sharp and quiet. “You’re staring.” He said, tense and cutting like a blade. “It’s rude.” 

He didn’t pause, didn’t glance back, his steps unwavering as he fell in line behind Knuckles, leaving Sonic frozen in place, caught between embarrassment and the instinct to keep up. 

“Just making sure you haven't fallen asleep.” Sonic joked, jogging to close the gap. “You don’t talk much.” 

“Focus on yourself, hedgehog.” Shadow replied flatly, his tone clipped but not unkind, as if testing whether Sonic could keep pace without needling him further.

Sonic’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by the familiar, restless energy that always bubbled under his skin. He adjusted his footing on the uneven path, the roots and loose soil reminding him how out of practice he’d been in careful navigation. Still, he kept up, his gaze flicking to Shadow with an almost subconscious curiosity.

The wind tugged at his quills, tossing them in every direction, but his eyes stayed locked on the black-and-red figure slightly ahead. And finally, he let himself speak, letting the words tumble out more from instinct than planning.

“You know,” Sonic ventured, modulating his tone to sound casual though the undercurrent of urgency threaded every word, “ We could actually work together on this. As a team, I mean. You, me, Knuckles - we’ve handled worse, right?” His voice carried a fragile optimism, a slender bridge of hope cast across Shadow’s impenetrable demeanor.

Shadow’s cadence remained unperturbed, each footfall a metronomic punctuation against the leaf-strewn path. He moved like an obsidian wraith, a figure carved from shadow and precision, unreadable, implacable. Yet Sonic, attuned to the subtlest cues, noted the almost imperceptible tightening at the angles of his jaw, a taut wire of tension concealed beneath the stoic mask. How Shadow’s ear flicked when he became uncomfortable. 

“A team?” Shadow’s voice was low, exacting, dismissive as steel. “This is not a game, hedgehog. I do not… do teams.”

Sonic hesitated, a flicker of astonishment stirring in his chest, but he pressed forward. “Come on, it doesn’t have to be complicated. Just - watch my back, I’ll watch yours. We don’t have to - ”

Shadow’s red-tinged gaze flicked over his shoulder, icy and unwavering, and Sonic froze mid-step. Again. Damn what’s it with his feet today? - Then, deliberately, the word cut through the silence. “Sonic.”

It was his name - uttered aloud, precise, unadorned, yet it struck Sonic like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. A warmth, subtle yet profound, spread through him. After all the times Shadow had remained aloof, the simple acknowledgment of his presence ignited an unexpected elation, a tether of recognition that made Sonic’s chest lift with relief.

Shadow’s lips thinned further, his tone almost mocking.  The darkness in his crimson eyes seemed to scan Sonic’s very thoughts. “I don’t rely on anyone. If you can’t handle that, stay behind.”

“But it doesn’t have to be… complicated” Sonic repeated, urgency now threading his words, “we share the same goal. Why not coordinate?” He was hopeful now. 

Shadow cut him off with a single, measured glance, cold and unwavering. “Do you think teamwork is a negotiation? A compromise? That’s a weakness.”

Sonic’s ears flicked back, incredulity prickling along his spine. “Weakness? Really? You think working with someone is a weakness?”

Shadow said nothing for a long while. The only sound was the brittle crunch of leaves beneath their boots - a steady rhythm that filled the hollow quiet between them. It wasn’t peace, exactly; more like the kind of silence that hums with unspoken thought. And, Sonic let it linger. Pushing would only make the quiet heavier, so he waited - listening to the forest breathe around them, to the faint pulse of energy thrumming underfoot.

Then, as he crouched, the earth gave a faint shiver beneath his glove. Tangled roots and cables twisted through the dirt like veins, and a dull glint caught his eye. He brushed the debris aside, fingers tracing the newer sheen of metal against soil.

He murmured, mostly to himself, “Grounding line’s newer than the others… they must’ve rerouted power here recently.”  A grin tugged at his mouth as he glanced up - catching Shadow’s stillness just ahead. “Means we’re almost there!” 

Shadow’s eyes flicked briefly toward him - a single, precise movement. The air between them shifted - something unreadable flashing across Shadow’s face.. “You noticed.”

And just like that, as quickly as it came, it was gone. The wall was back in place.

Shadow’s gaze returned to the path ahead, unblinking, unbothered, as he started walking after Knuckles. “Relying on someone else puts you at their mercy. I don’t need anyone.” He answered Sonic’s question coldly. 

Sonic let out a sharp exhale, the kind that came more from disbelief than fatigue - a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh under his breath. Man, how could someone be this obstinate? Frustration prickled at the edges of his calm as he straightened and followed after. “That’s… kinda lonely, you know?” he said, his tone trying to stay light but dipping toward earnest. “Not everything’s gotta be a solo act. Sometimes relying on someone else doesn’t make you weaker - it makes you faster. Stronger. More effective.”

Shadow’s expression remained impervious, an unyielding monolith. His lips tightened further, almost by a degree. “Effectiveness doesn’t necessitate emotional investment. You would understand if you weren’t so… impulsive.”

Sonic flinched at the edge of truth in that observation but let his grin soften into something more genuine. “Impulsive, sure. But I’ve learned people aren’t mere instruments. You could benefit from loosening up a little.”

Shadow didn’t shift, his shadowed silhouette unmoving against the dim forest light. “Loosening up is inefficient. I have no tolerance for inefficiency.”

“Yeah, but sometimes efficiency isn’t the point,” Sonic countered, edging closer - each step careful, like testing the pull of an invisible wire strung tight between them. He moved backward, keeping his gaze on Shadow, who still refused to turn. “Sometimes it’s about trust,” he went on, voice softer now, though the words still carried that stubborn spark. “About knowing someone’s running beside you, not behind. You could… I don’t know, try it for a second. See what it’s like.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed - a micro-flicker cutting through the obsidian depths of his gaze, something caught between faint irritation and the elusive trace of amusement. “From where I stand,” he said, voice low and precise, “you and that echidna make for a questionable team.” His glance drifted past Sonic’s shoulder, where Knuckles walked in the background - all crossed arms and silent judgment.

“Practice what you preach,” Shadow added, his tone a blade’s edge softened only by calm. “Then come back and lecture others.”

Sonic huffed a half-laugh, the kind that tripped over itself trying to sound casual. A hand came up, thumb brushing beneath his nose as he tried - and failed - to play it cool. “What do you mean? We’re fine! Just, uh -  a disagreement. Yeah! A little… bump in the road, that’s all.” He was all teeth, his smile too wide.

Shadow didn’t bother dignifying that with a look. His expression stayed unreadable, carved from stone and stillness. “I don’t experiment with trust,” he said at last, turning slightly, his words carrying that quiet finality that made the air heavier. “It’s liability incarnate, Sonic.”

Knuckles’ hand tightened slightly around the toolkit Tails had given him, the metal groaning faintly under his grip as his stride faltered for a fraction of a step. Indicating he’d heard. Sonic caught it from the corner of his eye, and for once, he had no witty comeback at the ready.

Beneath his ribs, the emerald pulsed again, a dull, insistent throb that made him clamp his teeth over his tongue to keep from groaning. His grin wavered, just for a heartbeat, and through the usual defiance, a trace of sincere warmth - quiet, unguarded - seeped through. 

“Maybe… but perhaps it’s a risk worth taking. I’m not dictating your methods. I only want to be someone you can depend on, even if you refuse to admit -” 

Sonic’s chest tightened, a sharp, involuntary inhale tearing through him as the emerald beneath his ribs pulsed again with sudden insistence. What’s happening? The light was faint, yet undeniable, pale and flickering beneath his fur like a heartbeat made visible. Each pulse struck harder than the last, and he could feel it spreading, a tightening coil of heat and energy that left his muscles tense and his breath ragged. It was getting worse, and worse, and - For a fleeting second, the world contracted, narrowing to that singular, luminous throb that hammered through him, demanding attention.

Shadow’s crimson eyes snapped to it instantly - quickly, calculating, unblinking. Every step he took slowed, deliberate, each movement measured as if he were navigating an invisible current that only he could perceive. His hand closed over Sonic’s wrist just as the other twitched toward his fur, steadying him with effortless control. 

Shadow’s gaze scanned the chaos around them - the faint glow of the emerald, Sonic’s strained tension, and the unsuspecting figure of Knuckles nearby - before his voice, low and clipped, cut through the charged air. “You should maintain control of your breathing,” he whispered, almost mechanical. “Fluctuations only amplify instability.”

The words carried weight not in volume, but in focus - a cold, exacting authority that made Sonic flinch even as it anchored him, the rhythm of Shadow’s presence somehow grounding the chaos thrumming through his chest.

Sonic blinked as sweat rolled down his temple, half-grinning, panting to catch his breath. Overwhelmed nerves and amusement tangled together. “Was that… a-advice?” thickness knotted at the back of his throat. 

“Observation,” Shadow replied, tone resonant, detached, but his gaze never wavered, fixed on the subtle glow beneath Sonic’s fur. 

He let out a shaky breath, fingers flexing against the wrist Shadow held, the jolt of the emerald beneath his ribs thrumming sharply with every beat. “Observation, huh? That’s… one way to put it. Pretty harsh observation, though.” 

Shadow’s crimson eyes didn’t flicker, yet the tiniest tension in his jaw, the subtle tilt of his head, spoke more than words ever could. “Harshness is irrelevant if it prevents catastrophe,” Sonic swallowed hard, the glow beneath his fur pulsing again - faint, yet insistent - and a shiver ran down his spine. 

Sonic swiped at the sweat clinging to his brow, grinning through the ache twisting through his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. But, you know… a little encouragement never hurt anyone either, right? Might even make a guy feel less like he’s about to explode.” He studied Shadow out of the corner of his eye, noting the subtle tightening of his fingers around the invisible air, the way his shoulders shifted fractionally as he adjusted his stance. Even in Shadow’s stillness, Sonic could read it - the control, the focus, the understanding that he knew exactly what the emerald was doing. And that… reassured him, even as fear and adrenaline coiled inside.

Was he stroking the back of his palm? 

Shadow’s gaze remained locked on the emerald’s faint pulse, unyielding, yet a fraction of a tilt softened the edges of his rigid posture. "Encouragement does not stabilize chaos,” he said, voice quieter this time, almost a low murmur meant only for Sonic. 

Knuckles still hadn’t noticed. 

Sonic blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the faint softness in Shadow’s tone. In his touch. “Right… okay. Noted. Point taken.” He let out another shallow breath, half-laughing, half-grimacing. “Still… you could try being a little less… intimidating. Just once.”

Shadow’s grip loosened fractionally, precisely and deliberate, his stance never fully softening but just enough to make Sonic’s racing heart ease. “Intimidation is incidental. Control is essential. Remember that.”

Sonic huffed, eyes flicking to the glowing emerald beneath his fur - The one he couldn’t see. “Yeah… control,” he echoed, letting the word roll through him as he tried to steady his racing pulse. Then, with a broken smirk, he added, “But a little teamwork wouldn’t hurt either?” he pursed his lips innocently. yep, he had to try - he’d say it again if he had to. 

Shadow’s eyes rolled up to Sonic, sharp and calculating, before returning to the fluctuating light. “Teamwork is…situational,” he said, staccato, like unsanded wood scraping against resolve, yet there was something in his measured calm that suggested he might allow it unlike before. 

The light dimmed slowly, and only then, did Shadow’s stance relax, though just barely.

The moment stretched, forest sounds swelling around them - the rustle of leaves, the soft whisper of wind through the treetops - until Shadow’s stride resumed, measured and deliberate. His hand letting go “You believe persistence alters the immovable?” Sonic felt the strange thrum of fear and life force under his fur sync briefly with the cadence of Shadow’s step, grounding him as much as it unsettled him. Confused, yet reassured, he realized - Shadow knew something about what might’ve just  happened, and for the first time in the pulse of panic and power, that knowledge was enough to steady him. 

“Not certain,” Sonic admitted, chest rising in a slow, deliberate inhale, the memory of the pain lingering like a shadow beneath his ribs. He fell into step behind Shadow, moving as though he’d been trailing him all day, eyes flicking to catch every subtle motion. “But I’ll try. If nothing else, it might lighten the load… and I don’t mind proving it to you.” 

“Why?” Shadow’s voice cut through the forest quiet, sharp with confusion, eyes locked on the open wilderness ahead. Something swirled deep in the crimson pools, a wave of unreadable emotions flickered - confusion, disbelief, the faintest echo of wonder. Sonic caught it only in a blink, a subtle shift too slight for most to notice: the micro-tension of Shadow’s shoulders, the brief twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if the concept he’d just heard was impossible to parse.

Sonic met that gaze without flinching, the truth spilling out in its simplest, unguarded form. “Because I’d like to be your friend.”

The silence that followed was deep, saturated with the methodological suppression of his inert concern, the birds singing in the cloves of bark, and the jingle of the beads threaded through Knuckle's quills ahead. Shadow offered no response immediately, yet he did not retreat either. In that suspension, Sonic perceived the merest tremor in the unspoken - an almost imperceptible concession, a fleeting acknowledgment of presence.

Finally, Shadow’s voice cleaved through the stillness, clipped, precise, habitual: “Forget it, hedgehog.”

The words landed, yet Sonic felt the familiar tension stir in his chest - not the emerald this time, not despair, but the sharp, electric ache of a challenge accepted. Shadow was not cruel; he was cautious, a living monolith of discipline and iron resolve. Sonic had recognized that from the moment he’d arrived. And yet… the simple act of hearing his own name, spoken aloud earlier, left him inexplicably lighter, anchored to a fragile hope he could neither name nor resist.

He’d take this small defeat in hand for that tiniest, almost imperceptible step forward.

Sonic forced a grin, letting the tight coil of tension loosen from his shoulders, and picked up his pace. “Yeah… alright. Guess I’ll just keep up then,” he said, voice carrying a mixture of determination, relief, and a spark of mischief - as if daring Shadow to challenge him again.

His pain…like his envy, forgotten in the wind.

Chapter Text

Sonic narrowed his eyes, scanning the path ahead as he swaggered past Shadow, each step laced with restless, impatient energy. His focus snapped to the dull, metallic bulk of the rectangular compartment where Knuckles crouched, every muscle taut, his knuckles pale with strain as he fought the stubborn lock like it had personally offended him.

“Maybe Tails’ gadget’ll give us an edge,” Sonic muttered, his tone light but his brow furrowed. Without waiting for agreement, he swiped the toolbox from Knuckles’ grip. A clatter of metal rang out as he rummaged through it with the practiced chaos of someone who somehow always found what he needed by instinct rather than order. His fingers brushed over spare clamps, bolts, and screwdrivers before landing on the yellow-and-silver tool he’d been searching for.

“Here,” he said, flicking it toward Knuckles with casual precision. He snapped the lid shut, the metallic thud punctuating the rising hum of electricity. Behind him, Shadow closed the distance with quiet steps, his movements smooth, deliberate - almost predatory in their precision. The faint vibration of the live current beneath the ground filled the silence, humming through the soles of their boots.

Knuckles grunted, setting the gadget against the box. The lock yielded at last with a rasping groan, rust flaking off the hinges as the compartment creaked open.

“So… that’s it, huh?” Sonic forced a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Inside, the tangle of spiraling wires, blinking lights, and erratic sparks looked more like chaos incarnate than machinery. “Doesn’t look like much,” he added, stretching lazily, masking the coil of tension tightening in his gut with sarcasm.

Neither of the others reacted. Knuckles leaned forward, squinting in mock comprehension, while Shadow’s focus sharpened to a razor’s edge, eyes darting between the interwoven lines - deciphering which to leave untouched and which to sever with surgical accuracy.

“I’m no scientist - the fox is,” Knuckles muttered at last, cutting a wary glance at Shadow. “Can you manage this in our stead?” 

Sonic opened his mouth - but no words came out. For once, he didn’t have a joke ready to break the tension. On any other day, he might’ve been a little miffed at being sidelined by his brother, but right now? He couldn’t argue. The mess of wires sprawled before him looked more like an alien language than anything he could make sense of. Shadow, though - Shadow moved through it like it spoke to him. Every subtle motion of his hands was deliberate, confident. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess, and the quiet precision of it all sent a chill down Sonic’s spine.

“Perhaps it’s best if I handle this,” Shadow said at last, resting one arm against the metal frame. “Power rarely announces itself. That relay controls current flow through half the sector. If we reroute the surge into the conductive section of the toolbox, we can siphon enough charge to destabilize my failsafe.”

Sonic’s grin faltered into a tight line. Reroute the surge. That sounded like code for everything might explode. “Right. ‘Reroute the surge.’ Got it. So… big zap, small boom?”

“Hopefully no boom.” Shadow’s voice was low, calm, but edged with warning. “Chaos energy and unstable current don’t blend kindly.” His fingers hovered mere millimeters above the exposed circuit, poised with impossible steadiness, never quite making contact.

Sonic’s stomach twisted at the sight. There was something mesmerizing in Shadow’s control - unnerving and thrilling all at once, like watching lightning contained in a glass jar.

Knuckles shifted his weight, the ground crunching beneath his boots. His arms crossed tightly, his stance defensive but watchful. The furrow in his brow deepened, though the skepticism in his eyes was tempered by reluctant respect. “Sounds like something you’d already know too much about,” he said gruffly, tone half-wary, half-admiring.

Shadow didn’t immediately respond. His gaze flicked away, breaking from Knuckles’ scrutiny. A faint tremor - almost imperceptible - passed through his expression before it stilled again. “I’ve had… experience channeling energy far more volatile than this,” he said, tone even, words chosen carefully.

Knuckles wasn’t satisfied. “And how’s that?” he pressed, leaning closer, the challenge in his voice sharp and deliberate.

Shadow’s composure wavered only slightly before he exhaled. “My father is a doctor,” he said at last, gaze hardening again. “He taught me how to control my chaos.”

Sonic’s eyebrows twitched before he could stop them. It was strange - learning something new about Shadow again, the hedgehog standing barely two meters away, shadowed by the hum of the box. The revelation settled between them like static, subtle but charged.

He hadn’t even considered the idea of Shadow having parents - let alone a father.

And yet, as Sonic studied him, his instincts began to prickle. Knuckles’ posture was drawn tight, every muscle coiled like a compressed spring, while Shadow’s movements carried a defensive tension - a readiness for threat masked beneath composure. The fragile balance between them, between power and pride, could rupture at any second.

His gaze flicked back to the sparking tangle inside the box. The blinking lights pulsed erratically, casting shifting glows across their faces. If he didn’t act now, Sonic realized, the air would snap - their tenuous cooperation breaking apart just like those fragile wires.

“Yeah, well… Tails said if we bridge the current right, we can funnel the chaos energy,” Sonic broke in, voice too loud, too fast. “Like jump-starting a car, yeah?” He wedged himself bodily between them, casual in stance but taut in motion, one hand resting on the frame Shadow leaned against, holding the fragile peace in place through sheer presence.

Shadow’s eyes slid toward him, crimson and unreadable. “An oversimplified analogy,” he said evenly. “But yes - in essence. The field interference will mimic the resonant frequency of a Chaos Emerald - ”

Sonic’s grin returned, bright and unguarded. “- and that kicks your failsafe into meltdown mode!”

For Sonic, the connections were finally clicking into place - thrilling, dangerous, fun. For Knuckles, though, the sight of Sonic enjoying this made his stomach knot tighter. His patience thinned with every second of confident improvisation he didn’t trust.

“And what, exactly, are we talking about here?” Knuckles demanded, his tone edged with alarm. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks and sounds like you’re juggling a storm of chaos energy with a pair of rusty pliers.”

Shadow didn’t even twitch. “Controlled destabilization,” he corrected smoothly. “Not meltdown.”

Sonic’s quills bristled, just faintly - that involuntary ripple that came whenever Shadow slipped into that unnervingly calm tone. “Got it. Controlled chaos. Very on-brand for you.” The words came light, but his chest felt tight. The air between them hummed with static, heavy with that kind of tension that jokes only pretended to cut.

Knuckles’ shadow loomed across them as he stepped closer, broad and immovable as bedrock. “And, what happens if this goes wrong?”

Shadow didn’t flinch. “Then my failsafe fractures. Chaos energy will flow uncontrollably, and collateral damage will be… extensive.” His voice carried no dramatics, no hint of reassurance - just the simple weight of fact.

Sonic’s grin faltered. He exhaled slowly, dragging a gloved hand down his face. The humor bled from his voice, leaving something brittle behind. “Great. So, basically, the worst-case scenario: kaboom.” His laugh came hollow, forced from his throat like air escaping a punctured tire. “We really should’ve brought Tails.”

Knuckles crossed his arms, jaw tight enough that his teeth clicked. “You mean you should’ve thought to bring him. This isn’t exactly a ‘wing it’ situation, Sonic.”

Sonic turned his grin on him, trying to reignite the lightness that used to come naturally. “Hey, I’m great under pressure!” 

The grid lights flickered, bleaching his cobalt fur into pale silver. His reflection in the metal box was warped - wide eyes, stiff shoulders, that manic glint that came when he didn’t know if he was joking anymore. “Mostly,” he muttered.

Shadow’s gaze was clinical. “Pressure isn’t the concern. Precision is. A single miscalculation will propagate through the system.”

Sonic’s smile wavered again. “Right… so, no meltdown," he murmured, raking a trembling hand through his quills. A faint spark crackled beneath his touch - instinctive, restless energy that had nowhere to go. “That’s… mildly uncomforting.”

Knuckles snorted, low and humorless.“Uncomforting? We’re standing next to a glorified bomb, Sonic. Scary doesn’t cover it.”

Shadow’s focus didn’t shift. “It’s not meant to be comfortable. Keep your distance once I start the flow.”

Sonic’s head lifted sharply. “No way,” his tone dropped - all the playfulness gone. He straightened, shoulders squared, defiance written in every line of him. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes slid toward him, slow and deliberate. “You risk nothing by stepping back.”

“Sure I do!” Sonic snapped, his voice cracking like the electricity beneath their feet. “I’m not built to just stand around. I help - that’s who I am!”

For a heartbeat, even the cables seemed to still.

Knuckles groaned, pinching the bridge of his snout. “You two are impossible,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in it. “If this thing blows, I’m blaming both of you.” He moved to the far side of the junction box, arms folded, his weight balanced like a sentry. “Still, Sonic’s got a point. Doesn’t mean he won’t get fried trying.”

Sonic grinned again - not bright, but burning. His eyes caught the light, reflecting the sharp shimmer of the live circuit before him. “Then you’d better make sure we don’t,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue with reckless ease.

Shadow’s stare lingered, unreadable - the kind of silence that always made Sonic wonder what lived behind those eyes. There was a flicker of something there, too faint to name. “Your obstinacy is noted,” he said finally, his tone clipped but quieter. “But I will not alter my procedure to accommodate theatrics. One mistake, and the consequences will be catastrophic.”

Sonic tilted his head, the grin returning - a fractured, defiant thing. His quills hummed softly, reacting to the electrical charge in the air as though the chaos within him already recognized what was coming. “Relax,” he murmured, meeting Shadow’s gaze without flinching. “You handle the chaos - I’ll handle keeping us alive.”

Shadow’s lips curved in the faintest scoff, almost too low to catch. “Whatever you say, hedgehog.”

“I know so,” Sonic said, puffing his chest with mock confidence. But his hands trembled just slightly - not from fear, but from a feeling he couldn’t name beginning to coil beneath his shaking ribs. 

Unfazed, Shadow turned his attention back to the circuitry. The glow of the exposed grid painted his gloves in blue-white light, his movements smooth and surgical. “These conduits feed directly into the main grid,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate. “If I cross-connect the phase here and ground the surplus -”

“ -Then you’ll get your chaos jolt without turning the town into toast,” Sonic interjected brightly.

Shadow’s head lifted, crimson gaze cutting upward, sharp as a drawn blade. “You’re not following.”

“Maybe not in your language,” Sonic replied with a tilted grin, “but I’ve got the vibe.”

A faint muscle twitched at Shadow’s temple - irritation, or perhaps something quieter beneath it. “You’re an anomaly,” he said flatly.

“Wasn’t trying to flatter,” Sonic quipped with a shrug.

“I wasn’t offering flattery.”

“I know,” Sonic smirked, “but I’m taking it anyway.”

“Just be quiet,” Shadow snapped, the precision in his voice slicing cleaner than any edge.

Sonic’s grin didn’t fade so much as soften. “And where’s the fun in silence?”

Knuckles groaned audibly, stepping forward with the solid weight of someone used to keeping chaos contained by sheer presence. His arms folded across his chest like a barricade. “Just get on with it,” he growled.

Sonic’s grin dimmed slightly as he caught the steel in Knuckles’ eyes. Shadow didn’t look up, but even he seemed to sense the change - their collective tension rippling through the air.

Crouching, Shadow withdrew another clamp, his movements deliberate, surgical. The hum of the circuitry deepened, reverberating through the air as he connected two wires, severed one striped line, and guided the frayed ends toward the lower compartment. He sealed them with energy-resistant tape, his every motion exact and steady.

“I thought you were just gonna grab it,” Sonic said, voice wavering despite his best effort.

“Chaos is biologically tethered to us,” Shadow said, still focused on his work. His tone was steady, detached, but something in it resonated with weight. “Stronger, yes - but molecularly encoded for precision. Man-made current isn’t. Direct exposure would kill me instantly.”

The word kill hung heavy in the air, humming with electricity and meaning. Sonic blinked, forcing his grin back into place though his stomach twisted in protest.

“Ah… got it,” he murmured. “No touching the glowy death wires. Written down for the future.”

Shadow’s gaze didn’t lift. “Stay back,” he ordered, the words calm but absolute. “Once this begins, there’s no reversing it.”

The hum became a growl. Light flared beneath the metal casing, reflections stuttering over Shadow’s fur like the pulse of some buried creature.

Knuckles took his cue, moving to Sonic’s side. His hand landed against Sonic’s arm - not rough, but firm, steadying. “I hate this plan,” he muttered, eyes scanning the wires, every muscle coiled. “Whole thing smells like trouble.”

Sonic’s chest tightened. For a heartbeat, the world felt unbearably small - just the three of them and the low vibration of danger running through the air. Yet there was something grounding in their presence: Shadow’s methodical calm, Knuckles’ unwavering vigilance.

He drew in a slow breath, his grin returning - smaller now, but real. “Yeah, but that’s kind of our thing, huh?” he said softly, half to himself.

The hum swelled. The circuitry flared to life - a trembling crescendo of light and sound. The air thickened with charge, the earth beneath them humming in synchrony. Sonic’s fur lifted with static, a subtle halo of green beginning to glimmer under his skin going unnoticed.

Three silhouettes stood at the heart of the storm - precision, power, and motion bound together by something dangerously close to faith.

For one suspended moment, the current held.

Balanced. Contained. Alive.

And then - inevitably - it didn’t.

What had been a faint vibration in the wires grew into a resonant thrum, swelling through the box until it felt angry - breathing, pulsing. The redirected current flowed like liquid light, chasing along the fresh connection in silver threads that twisted and flared against the dark metal. Sparks leapt from junction to junction, not wild, but purposeful, as if the energy itself recognized its new path.

The air thickened almost immediately. The smell of ozone bit sharp in their lungs, and every breath tasted metallic, electric. The static in the air prickled against their fur, raising it in uneven waves. A low, trembling note filled the clearing, one that neither came from the machinery nor the earth - it came from everywhere. Sonic’s quills flickered faintly, tracing silver in the blue light as the circuit stabilized.

For a moment, it worked. The energy coursed smooth and steady, pooling into the core where Shadow had anchored it. The box glowed from within, the silver-blue hue spilling over their faces, painting them ghostlike. Shadow’s gaze flicked between readings, every movement deliberate, exact - controlled. Knuckles’ grip on the frame eased slightly, though the tension in his shoulders never fully left.

Then, all at once, the harmony cracked.

It began imperceptibly - a note gone sharp, a heartbeat off-tempo. The light trembled. The current hesitated. And in that infinitesimal misstep, something shifted. Something deep within the current stirred, as though the system itself had awakened to a truth it was never meant to know.

The tone wavered - discordant, unsettling. The once-perfect hum fractured into a rough, jagged vibration that crawled beneath the skin. The silver light twisted in on itself, warping, convulsing, curling inward like a wounded creature retreating from its own brilliance.

Sonic felt it before he saw it.

A sharp pulse rippled through his chest - an involuntary flare of emerald radiance bleeding through his fur. It throbbed once, twice, then steadied, faint but undeniable. His breath hitched, the realization striking like lightning.

That wasn’t the grid. That rhythm - that living pulse - he knew it.

It was Chaos.

The redirected current, once docile and mechanical, had found something to answer - something stronger. It sensed the buried fragment within him, the dormant emerald fused to his core, and now it reached for it like a mirror recognizing its reflection.

The current no longer wished to flow.

It wanted connection.

Air tore from his lungs in a strangled gasp. His muscles seized, locked in the vice of two colliding forces - the synthetic current pulling one way, the chaos inside him surging the other. The pain was immediate and merciless. It wasn’t the simple sting of voltage; it was raw, molecular dissonance, energy unraveling energy.

A sharp heat shot down his spine, his vision bursting with color and static. His knees buckled under the weight of it, his hands slamming into the dirt to keep himself from collapsing entirely. Every breath came thin, stolen - the air itself vibrating, resisting him. The chaos inside him wasn’t being drawn out; it was being summoned.

It clawed its way upward through his veins, wild and ravenous, demanding release.

“Sonic?” The voice reached him as if from underwater - distant, distorted. Knuckles. Low. Frantic.

Then another voice, cutting sharper than the rest - Shadow’s. “Don’t!” he barked, his tone hard enough to slice through the noise. “His chaos is -”

The rest was lost to the surge. 

The air erupted - a piercing shriek of light and sound as the circuit convulsed beyond capacity. Silver arcs split apart, rupturing into violent veins of green. The current exploded outward like a living thing - a storm given form - a dozen tendrils of raw light snapping and writhing through the air before striking Sonic.

The impact tore a cry from his chest. The tendrils coiled around him, constricting - bright, searing cords that wrapped his arms and torso, dragging him toward the heart of the machine as though the grid itself had chosen him as its conduit. His feet scraped uselessly against the dirt, his body trembling under the strain. The light consumed his outline, swallowing his shape until only the faint gleam of emerald pulsed from beneath his fur, desperate and unsteady.

Knuckles moved before thought could stop him. He lunged, throwing his weight toward Sonic with a bellow. The moment his fist crossed the threshold of the field though, the charge caught him - a blinding flash, a roar of heat and pressure. The spark that leapt from Sonic to Knuckles was pure white, instantaneous.

The force threw Knuckles backward, his boots carving trenches into the earth before he hit hard and rolled. A string of curses tore from him as he forced himself upright, shaking out his arm. The sting burrowed deep, the nerves singing with static.

But he couldn’t get close again. The barrier had grown.

Around Sonic, the energy swelled, enclosing him in a cocoon of writhing green light. It pulsed with every thundering beat of his heart - every beat of Chaos - a rhythm that no longer belonged entirely to him.

“Sonic! Damn it, move!” Knuckles bellowed, trying again anyway, this time circling the field, searching for any way in. Each step closer, making his fur stand on end; the static crawling up his spine, sharp and biting. The air was too thick with energy - he couldn’t break through.

Shadow felt it next - a jolt like a hot knife beneath his ribs. The energy reacted to him, pulling, beckoning. The quills along his back bristled as light flared against his gloves, outlining his form in brief flashes of silver-orange. His instincts screamed at him to stay back, but something deeper - some buried reflex - drove him forward.

His body moved on its own - a reflex pulled from somewhere deep, haunted by flashes of blonde hair and a blue dress flickering behind his eyes. A memory, or perhaps a ghost, urging him onward.

The ground quaked beneath his stride as he tore through the storm. Energy struck him in furious lashes, scoring along his arms and shoulders, searing through the fabric of his gloves - but the pain was different. It didn’t consume him; it knew him. The current bent around him, snarling, testing, but never turning him away. Recognition pulsed within its touch - faint, fractured, yet undeniable.

Each step was agony, every motion fought through a current that wanted both to destroy and to welcome him. Pain threaded through his muscles like wire, but still he pressed forward, jaw locked, breath ragged, eyes burning against the white-green haze. His vision swam, edges blurring, yet his body refused collapse - driven by instinct, by will, by something perilously close to remembrance.

“Damn it, hedgehog - hold on!” Shadow’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, its raw command slicing through the electric roar. He reached Sonic in a single, reckless motion, his gloved hand locking around the other’s arm.

The current retaliated instantly.

A violent flash devoured them both, swallowing sight and sound in one blinding eruption. The air itself seemed to shatter. For a heartbeat that stretched beyond reason, time fractured - every arc of energy freezing midair, suspended in impossible stillness. The storm became sculpture: threads of lightning turned to glass, pulsing in tandem with two erratic heartbeats struggling for dominance.

Inside the maelstrom, the two hedgehogs stood as silhouettes carved from light - one blazing with emerald fire, the other burning red beneath the storm’s reflection. The energy coiled around them like living chains, striking and rethreading in chaotic rhythm. Each time Sonic faltered, Shadow’s grip tightened, his arm a vice against the pull that threatened to rip them apart. The current slammed through him, the pain shared, absorbed - his crimson aura sparking where Sonic’s green flared brightest.

“Control it!” Shadow’s voice was half a growl, half a plea, his words barely audible beneath the shrieking current. His ears flattened, his stance braced as he pulled once - twice - three times against the invisible force of Chaos itself.

“I - I can’t!” Sonic’s reply cracked, torn raw by pain and static. His voice wavered between existence and electricity. He didn’t even know what control meant anymore - not when every atom of him was screaming, dissolving into light. The energy wasn’t external; it was inside him, clawing through muscle and bone, rewriting what he was made of. His chest convulsed as the Chaos Emerald buried within him thrashed wildly, resonating with the storm outside - two frequencies locked in violent argument.

Behind them, Knuckles struck the barrier again, his fists slamming into the emerald field. Each hit burst into fracturing light, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the surface, but never fast enough. “Come on! Come on!” he roared, voice raw, eyes blazing against the glare. Each blow rattled the air, but the Chaos energy hissed and sealed the breaks faster than he could shatter them.

Shadow’s arm slid around Sonic’s waist, anchoring him before the torrent could claim him entirely. His voice came low through gritted teeth, each word edged with agony. “You can,” he hissed. “You will. Find an anchor - now.”

An anchor. An anchor? 

The words barely made sense. Sonic couldn’t feel in any human sense anymore - the pain had gone past pain, into something vaster and more alien. His body was no longer his own. It had become conduit, instrument, current. The electricity didn’t move through him - it was him. His veins sang with it, his bones vibrated in harmonic resonance, his heartbeat drowned beneath the roar.

Every breath came as light instead of air. Every thought broke against the sound.  He wasn’t sure if he was still burning, or if he had simply become the fire.

The air was alive.

It rippled against his skin like a living thing - sharp, electric, predatory. Each breath he drew came with a bite, each shift of muscle triggered a fresh wave of current threading through him, pulling him taut like wire. His body convulsed out of rhythm, his limbs jerking to the beat of something that no longer belonged to him. He couldn’t tell if the tremors came from the storm or from his own futile attempt to fight it.

The Chaos Emerald within his chest had awakened - no longer dormant, no longer silent. It thrummed with an intelligence that was both alien and intimate, aware of him. And it hurt. This wasn’t mere energy running wild through nerves and veins; it was recognition. The emerald knew him, claimed him, demanded he answer. Every pulse of that blinding green was like a heartbeat misfiring against his own, tearing his rhythm apart, splitting him somewhere between body and light.

His breath hitched in ragged bursts. Each inhale scraped like static through his throat, every exhale flickering with emerald radiance spilling from between clenched teeth. His hands clawed weakly at the ground, sparks skittering between his gloves and the dirt - a futile tether to something solid. Beyond the storm’s howl, voices bled through the static: Knuckles shouting, Shadow’s grip anchoring him, unyielding. But their sounds felt miles away, blurred beneath the oppressive rhythm that dominated his senses.

He wanted to scream. His lungs tried - but his voice dissolved into the electricity consuming him. Every nerve sang with blinding clarity. His vision fractured, refracted, the world breaking apart into two overlapping realities - one tangible, one incandescent - until he could no longer tell which one he occupied.

And for an instant, he saw it.

Through the haze of agony and light, the universe unveiled its circuitry - veins of Chaos threading through the air, the ground, the world itself. It was infinite, ancient, alive - and it was inside him, coursing through his bones, redrawing the edges of his existence. He wasn’t just seeing the energy anymore. He was part of it.

Then the surge came again - overwhelming, devouring. He could only endure it, body trembling under the pressure of power far too vast to contain.

But something changed.

The light shifted - no longer chaotic, but listening. The field around him rippled, responding as if it too awaited his command. The storm had stopped fighting him. It hovered, aware.

Sonic’s eyes snapped open through the glare. His pupils had narrowed to slivers, reflecting a feral, luminescent green. His pulse thundered in his ears, each beat accompanied by the emerald’s answering roar, the two locked in a desperate call and response.

Anchor.

The word echoed through the static of his mind - not a command, but a plea. Anchor to what? His body? It was unraveling. The ground? Too unstable. The Emerald? It was the chaos. His gaze swept through the storm - and found him.

Shadow.

Still braced against the surge, muscles coiled in defiance, the storm clawing at his frame yet never forcing him back. His hand still clamped around Sonic’s arm, refusing surrender even as energy scorched across his skin.

And in that instant - through the haze, the fire, the fracturing light - Sonic knew.

That was it. That was the anchor.

Sonic drew a burning breath, a molten gasp that seared his lungs and set every nerve alight. He could feel the chaos shredding through him, demanding unity where there was none. His body trembled under the weight of it, but he forced it into focus, dragging his will into alignment with the storm raging inside.

“Come on…” His voice cracked, half a whisper, half a plea. “You’re mine to control… not the other way around.”

The words were barely sound - more defiance than speech. He reached outward, not with his hands, but with the wild pulse of his energy, the instinctive force buried deep in his core. The world responded. Emerald light surged from his chest in a violent arc, raw and living, hurling itself toward the burning field where Shadow still fought the current.

For one infinite instant, green met orange.

And, the world detonated.

The resonance tore through Shadow like memory. It hit not as pain, but familiarity - the sound of something lost returning home. The shard within him awoke, flaring bright beneath his ribs. Chaos roared through his bloodstream, a familiar hum that vibrated down to his bones. His pulse matched it, synchronized with the green flare burning from Sonic’s core. For the first time in what felt like eternity, he felt whole.

Sonic’s eyes snapped toward him through the glare, pupils thin, desperate. “Shadow!” His voice came rough, nearly drowned in the static. “I can’t -  I can’t hold it -”

“You can!” Shadow barked back, his own voice strained but unyielding. Sparks leapt from his gloves, burning holes in the air around them. “You’re not alone in it, hedgehog -  focus on me!”

“I’m trying!” Sonic choked, the words tearing from him. “It’s too much- it’s everywhere -”

“Then let it find you!” Shadow shouted, eyes locked on his. “Don’t fight it  -  anchor it!”

The orange glow ignited around Shadow’s hand, fierce and instinctive, wrapping his arm in ribbons of light. He didn’t think. There wasn’t time to. The air was collapsing around them, reality bending inward under the pressure of two converging forces. His grip on Sonic’s arm tightened, grounding them both against the implosion building between their chests.

“Hold on,” he murmured - not an order, not a warning, but a promise.

Then he reached - not outward, but through the chaos. He seized the energy that bound them, tore into its current, and ripped the space between apart.

The explosion of color shattered the barrier in a single, blinding flash. Light devoured the world - brilliant, absolute -  and then, just as suddenly, it vanished.

Silence fell like a collapse. The storm of energy guttered out, its electric hum choking into stillness. Only the scent of ozone lingered - sharp, metallic - drifting above the scorched earth. The ground surrounding the electrical grid smoked in ruin, its panels warped and half-melted where the current had turned on itself.

A few meters away, the air fractured once more - a shimmer, then a violent recoil. Two figures fell through it.

Shadow hit the dirt first, hard enough to jar his bones. He landed on one knee, breath tearing from his throat as his arm remained locked around Sonic’s body. The blue hedgehog was limp against him, chest rising in shallow, uneven jerks. A faint, dying glimmer pulsed beneath the singed fur of his sternum - green, weak, alive but faltering.

Shadow said nothing. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on his free hand, where faint orange light still flickered - chaotic energy dancing weakly across his glove, fragile as a dying ember. He could feel it, for an instant - the familiar hum, the old power thrumming just beneath his skin. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. The warmth bled out of his palm, leaving behind only the ache of its absence. His jaw tightened, eyes lowering, the silence between the three of them heavier than the smoke that still hung in the air.

But as the last traces of light guttered out, realization struck him - he had Chaos Controlled with his inhibitors still on… and his body hadn’t shattered.

Knuckles was the first to move, boots pounding against the brittle earth as he sprinted toward them. He skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees beside the pair, dust and ash rising around him.

“What the hell just happened - ” Knuckles’ voice cracked mid-sentence, breaking under the weight of the silence that followed. His eyes darted between the two hedgehogs, searching for something solid to hold onto amidst the distortion still crawling through the air.

Shadow’s gaze never left Sonic. “He absorbed too much of the current - unintentionally,” he said at last, his voice low but taut with control. “The emerald inside him recognized the charge… but it couldn’t bind to something so fundamentally different from itself.”

Knuckles frowned. “You mean it… overloaded?”

“Not exactly.” Shadow’s tone was calm, but beneath it ran a current of strain. “My Chaos energy was still being suppressed. When the grid surged, the resonance between us aligned - it woke the emerald inside him. For a moment, it tried to synchronize with mine.” His jaw tightened, crimson eyes narrowing. “It didn’t know how to balance the output, so it forced a discharge. He released his Chaos energy to jumpstart mine subconsciously."

Knuckles glanced down at Sonic’s motionless form, the faint green light still flickering weakly beneath his fur. “So you pulled him out before it burned through him?”

Shadow shook his head slowly. “No and yes,” he said quietly. “I did jump us away, but it wasn’t me that pulled him out.” His gaze lingered on Sonic - steady, conflicted. “It was the emerald. It let him go.”

The words hung there - opaque, unsettling - before Sonic stirred, the motion weak, breath rasping like static through cracked lungs, a ragged cough cutting through the stillness. 

“Is he -?”

“Alive,” Shadow answered, though his tone lacked conviction. He shifted his hold slightly, easing Sonic’s weight against the ground. The smaller hedgehog’s fingers twitched once, but his eyes stayed closed. “The hedgehog will walk away from this completely fine.” 

Knuckles exhaled, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline began to ebb. “Damn it,” he muttered. “That nearly cooked all three of us.”

Sonic’s eyes suddenly blinked open, unfocused, for a heartbeat, pale light bleeding through as though it took effort to exist. “...Ow,” he choked, voice rough, distant. “Please tell me we didn’t just blow up Green Hill.”

Relief broke from Knuckles in a low, incredulous laugh. “Not yet,” he said, brushing soot from Sonic’s quills with the back of his glove. “Though you came close.” affection was laced deep inside his words. 

Sonic tried for a grin, but it trembled and fell away almost instantly. “Guess I... overshot it.” His head lolled back against the dirt. “Remind me not to make that... my party trick.”

Knuckles huffed through a short, exhausted breath. “Are you gonna pass out?” he asked, regardless of knowing the answer. 

“Give me five minutes,” Sonic mumbled. The words slurred together before sleep took him whole, his chest still pulsing with that faint, unearthly light.

Knuckles lingered over him for a moment before turning to Shadow. As if making sure he really was asleep before he spoke. “That surge nearly killed him,” he said flatly. “You sure it’s stable now?”

Shadow didn’t answer right away. His gaze followed the faint tendrils of smoke curling up from the scorched earth, His jaw tightened as he watched it die. “Stable,” he said, though the word carried hesitation, the edge of uncertainty buried beneath its calm. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Whatever remains of it won’t trouble us further.”

Knuckles stood silent for a beat, then gave a short, reluctant nod. The air between them felt thick, charged with the weight of everything that hadn’t been said. Only the faint hiss of cooling metal and Sonic’s shallow, uneven breaths filled the space where words failed.

After a moment, Knuckles broke the quiet - his voice lower now, stripped of its usual roughness. “You didn’t have to go after him like that,” he said. “That surge nearly tore you apart too.”

Shadow’s eyes fell to his gloved hand, flexing slightly as if the ache beneath the surface still burned. His face remained composed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him - a flicker of pain, or maybe something else entirely. When he finally met Knuckles’ gaze again, his voice came quieter, almost wary. “Would you rather I’d left him?”

Knuckles’ mouth twitched, part grimace, part weary grin. “No.” He hesitated, the next words heavy and awkward on his tongue, but he forced them out anyway. “Just… thanks.”

Shadow blinked once, as though the word itself didn’t quite make sense to him. “For what?” he asked softly - not dismissive, just genuinely uncertain, like someone who’d forgotten what gratitude sounded like.

Knuckles’ dreadlocks shifted as he straightened, the last crackles of the barriers ash fluttering in the wind as the breeze pushed past them. His eyes glistened, just slightly. “For saving his sorry ass,” he said, nudging Sonic’s shoulder lightly. “It doesn't happen often that someone gets there before me.” 

Shadow’s gaze lingered on him, something unspoken flickering in those crimson irises - acknowledgment, maybe, or understanding. Knuckles saw it, and in that brief silence, the old suspicion he’d always carried toward Shadow slipped away. Whatever lines had divided them before had been burned out with the chaos surge. In their place, something steadier remained - trust, earned the hard way.

Saving his brother - that counted as true devotion, didn’t it?

A pause. Then - almost imperceptibly - the edge around Shadow’s eyes softened. “I didn’t do it for gratitude,” he murmured. “He was in danger and I… reacted.”

Knuckles tilted his head. “Yeah. Maybe that’s what saving someone looks like.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The air around them hummed faintly - residue of the chaos still whispering beneath the soil. Shadow didn’t respond immediately as he closed his hand into a fist. “Well…You’re welcome, I suppose” he said at last, his voice so low it nearly drowned in the stillness.

It was barely audible, but Knuckles caught it, and it was enough.

Sonic stirred once more, mumbling something unintelligible before going still, his breath deep and even now, surrendered to a fitless sleep again. 

Knuckles let out a breath that was half relief, half disbelief. “He’s out cold.” He straightened, dusting his gloves off as he stood. 

Shadow rose too, his movements slow, deliberate. His gaze lingered on Sonic - on the faint green glow that had pulsed just beneath his fur, steady as a living ember, finally disappearing. Something unreadable flickered across his face - not pity, not concern exactly, but something heavier, quieter.

He turned slightly, voice a murmur almost lost to the wind. “Let him rest,” he said. “He’s not just recovering from what he did.” A pause, then softer still: “He’s recovering from what he felt.”

Knuckles frowned slightly, his eyes flicking toward the twisted remains of the electrical box. “Why did his Chaos - ”

Shadow’s head turned, the faintest tension cutting through his posture. “I’ll explain,” he interrupted quietly. “Once we’re clear of this place.”

But before either could move, a new sound crackled through the silence - a thin thread of static, sharp and high, cutting through the fading hum.

Both of them turned instantly, instincts coiled tight. Energy still shimmered around the box - faint, erratic. Then came three quick beeps, followed by a burst of static that almost resembled a voice.

“Tails to Team Sonic - do you copy?!”

Shadow and Knuckles exchanged a glance.

The speaker crackled again, clearer this time. “Is everyone okay!? We saw the barrier spike through the sky!”

Knuckles exhaled sharply through his nose - the first hint of real relief breaking through. “You’re late, genius,” he muttered. “Get your gear ready - we’ve got one fried hedgehog coming in hot.” he echoed into the handheld device that’d been hidden in his quills. 

“Let’s move,” Shadow said, nodding once. Knuckles slid the walkie-talkie back into its hidden spot, then shifted his grip under Sonic with practiced ease, hoisting him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. The faint weight of exhaustion in Sonic was palpable, but Knuckles moved steadily, ready to get them out before the chaos could flare again.

Chapter Text

“Give him to me.” Shadow’s tone was low - measured, almost too calm for the tension threading through the room. He stepped forward, arms outstretched, gloved hands finding careful purchase around Sonic’s waist and shoulder. His movements were precise, deliberate, as if he feared mishandling something fragile.

Knuckles’ muscles tensed instinctively. His grip on Sonic tightened - not with the same bristling suspicion he’d worn minutes earlier, but something closer to disbelief. His crimson eyes narrowed, studying Shadow’s expression for any trace of ulterior motive, but found none. The hedgehog’s face was as still as stone, yet there was a quiet urgency beneath it, a rare gentleness that Knuckles hadn’t expected from someone so infamously guarded.

“…You should tell your parents what happened,” Shadow said evenly, though his voice carried an edge of restraint - as if explaining himself was a foreign effort. “I’ll take him to Tails. He’ll know what to do.”

Knuckles didn’t move at first. His brow furrowed, the confusion deepening as he searched Shadow’s eyes. The echidna’s uncertainty had drained away, replaced by something harder to define - an uneasy recognition, perhaps, that Shadow’s concern wasn’t feigned. That beneath the composed exterior lay something real, though he couldn’t quite name it.

“You sure you can handle him?” Knuckles finally muttered, his voice quiet and uncertain.

Shadow’s gaze flicked to him, sharp but not hostile. “I wouldn’t’ve said so if I couldn’t.”

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then Knuckles exhaled slowly, his grip loosening. The weight of Sonic’s body shifted, falling into Shadow’s waiting arms.

“I’ll be quick,” Knuckles muttered with a firm nod, turning away. His dreadlocks lifted and fell in slow, weighted motion - like coins slipping through air - before settling against his back. Behind him, Shadow adjusted Sonic’s limp form across his arms with practiced precision, ensuring the blue quills brushed nowhere against his own skin.

“Take your time,” Shadow replied, his tone flat but steady - almost too even to be called comforting. Without waiting for a response, he turned and ascended the stairs with brisk, deliberate strides.

At the top, the rhythmic clatter of keys filled the air. The fox was already at work, his twin tails twitching in restless cadence as his fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur. Lines of code and files blinked into existence faster than Shadow could follow - each one a language he could read but not yet understand.

Tail’s barely noticed their arrival, his attention consumed by the glow of the monitors.

“Shadow -” the fox gasped, springing to his feet so fast his chair spun behind him. “How is - ” His voice caught midway as his gaze landed on the figure in Shadow’s arms.

“Tails,” Shadow began, but the words died when the fox stepped closer - too close - his ears twitching as he leaned in, cautious yet desperate. For a moment, he didn’t breathe. Then his eyes - clear and blue as polished crystal - widened in relief at the faint, rhythmic rise of Sonic’s chest. A quiet, steady inhale. A deep exhale.

“He’s… breathing,” Tails whispered, the words trembling out of him, fragile with disbelief and relief all at once. His shoulders sagged, tension melting from his frame as his twin tails drooped behind him. “Oh, thank Chaos…” he breathed, the reverence in his voice barely above a whisper.

Shadow’s gaze drifted to Sonic, the weight of the hedgehog still steady in his arms. “He is,” he confirmed quietly - his tone stripped of its usual iron edge. “He overexerted himself. The Chaos energy he absorbed reacted with the electrical current… burned straight through his reserves.”

Tails’ wide, glimmering eyes rose to meet his, pleading. “Will he be okay?”

“Yes,” Shadow replied, his voice softening - an unfamiliar tenderness laced through the usual restraint. “He’s just asleep. I got there in time to stop it.”

He began to move forward, careful and deliberate, even as Tails’ trembling fingers brushed Sonic’s wrist as if afraid to lose contact.

“O-Oh - right,” Tails stammered, his voice catching before the spark of realization lit his face. His ears perked sharply, tails flicking with renewed focus. “Knuckles filled me in over the radio - what happened out there. I started digging through the data and…” He paused, eyes widening as the pieces connected in his mind. “I think I’ve figured out what caused this.”

In an instant, he turned and dashed back to his computer. His tails flicked in restless rhythm - not from panic, but from the pull of an idea he could feel but not yet name. His fingers flew across the keys, each strike sharp and sure. The projector hummed to life, flooding the bedroom with pale, shifting light.

“I must’ve missed it the first time,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as twin blue screens reflected in his pupils. Two overlapping scans glowed before him - energy signatures pulsing like heartbeats, their cores bright and volatile. “But it’s clear now… now that I know where to look.”

Shadow listened absently, one ear canted back toward the faint cadence of Tails’ voice as it drifted through the low hum of machinery. The fox’s words blurred into a muted backdrop—technical, precise, and irrelevant to the quiet gravity anchoring him in that moment.

He approached the modest bed - the one that had once belonged to Sonic, though Shadow’s presence had since relegated its owner to the blow-up mattress in the corner - and lowered the unconscious hedgehog onto it with an almost reverential care. Each motion was measured, deliberate, as though the very act of touch demanded restraint. It was a rhythm learned long ago in a sterile world of metal and glass - how to move gently, how to preserve what was fragile. It reminded him of laying Maria down after her coughing fits, afraid even the smallest jolt might undo what little peace she’d found.

He adjusted Sonic’s arms so they fell naturally, then drew the blanket over him with practiced precision. The comforter rose and fell faintly with each shallow breath, the fabric catching a whisper of light from the monitors. For a lingering moment, Shadow’s gloved hand hovered above the soft azure quills. His expression was indecipherable, yet behind that composed facade stirred a glimmer of something achingly human - a grief too quiet to name.

Maria.

The memory intruded unbidden, threading itself into the dim light of the room. For the briefest instant, her face flickered behind Sonic’s - gentle and luminous, replaced by his defiant, untamed echo. The resemblance was spectral, not in form but in spirit: the same unrelenting will to live, to challenge everything, to shine. Maria had embodied it in compassion; Sonic carried it in chaos. Both burned bright enough to leave scars.

Shadow despised the comparison - and yet, it rooted itself in him, a cruel, tender reminder of all he’d failed to protect. Sonic was reckless, infuriating, unbearably fast… and still, when he looked at him now, all he could see was the flicker of a promise he hadn’t kept, yet.

His gaze fell upon the bedside dresser. A small horse plush sat there, its faded fabric and frayed mane betraying how often it had been handled. Maddie’s gift, he remembered - an unassuming relic of just earlier today. Something fragile clinging to the vestiges of comfort. A faint, reluctant warmth crossed Shadow’s features. He picked the toy up, turning it once between his gloved fingers, before setting it gently beside Sonic’s head.

Let that thing do what I can’t, he thought, the words silent but heavy with resignation.

For a moment, he stood in the threshold, the dim light painting fractured gold across the edges of his quills. Then he turned away, the soft hum of electronics and the even softer rhythm of Sonic’s breathing trailing after him - an elegy of stillness in a world that refused to rest.

“And what would that be?” Shadow asked, his tone edged with curiosity as he crossed his arms over the tuft of white fur on his chest.

Tails waved him over with a quick motion of his hand, eagerness flickering through his movements. “Come here, you’ve got to see this.” He pointed to the dual images glowing on his monitor - two pulsing energy signatures side by side.

“Remember when I scanned your Chaos energy a while back?” the fox prompted, glancing up briefly.

Shadow’s brow furrowed as he sifted through the memory, then gave a short nod.

“This one’s yours,” Tails said, tapping the image on the right. The display responded with a faint pulse of light, matching the steady rhythm of Shadow’s own energy - contained, deliberate, controlled, but locked. 

Tails’ voice carried a measured precision, the cadence he adopted when intellect overtook instinct. “Your Chaos signature is shallow - integrated at a molecular level,” he began, his twin tails flicking with mechanical rhythm. 

“It’s embedded directly into your genome, interlaced with your nucleotide architecture. The energy flow mirrors your own biochemical sequencing, which means it’s not invasive or parasitic - it’s endogenous. Even when suppressed, it maintains equilibrium, self-regulating and perfectly stable. In essence… it’s innate.”

He hesitated, then gestured toward the dual readings projected on the screen. The contrast was immediate - one waveform steady and coherent, the other volatile, rippling with erratic bursts of amplitude.

“However,” Tails continued, his tone tightening, “Sonic’s signature - though identical in fundamental patterning - is inherently destructive.”

Shadow’s eyes flicked up, composure briefly fracturing. “You mean - ?”

“The Chaos within you,” Tails said quietly, “is the same energy that’s now destabilizing him.”

Something flickered behind Shadow’s eyes - a buried echo, glacial and familiar. “So, I was right." He huffed. "My biological composition is primarily Mobian, yet… altered. Engineered through the synthesis of a foreign relic - a fragment from the Chaos Emeralds themselves…at least according to the doctor.”

Tails nodded, still focused on the data streaming across the monitor. “Exactly. What differentiates your signature is its anchor point, though. The Chaos energy within you isn’t residual absorption - it’s symbiotic. It’s sustained by a micro-fragment of an Emerald shard integrated into your cellular matrix. That shard functions as both conduit and stabilizer, maintaining continuous resonance with the ambient Chaos field.”

His voice softened as he turned to meet Shadow’s gaze. “When Sonic’s absorbed Emerald reacted during the accident, the surge it produced resonated with that shard. It recognized the frequency and responded like a reflex.”

Shadow’s frown deepened. “So when I initiated Chaos Control to warp us out…”

“The act wasn’t fully conscious,” Tails confirmed, eyes bright with analytical intensity. “Your body reacted instinctively - an automatic synchronization to compensate for the field disruption. It wasn’t interference, Shadow. It was a corrective response.”

Shadow’s gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a low timbre. “Because our energies are intrinsically connected.”

Tails inclined his head. “Precisely. The shard within you and the Emerald energy within Sonic operate as parts of a unified resonance system. When one frequency destabilizes, the other attempts to equalize. The feedback you experienced wasn’t random - it was forced resonance.”

He exhaled, rubbing his temple as pale gold light from the monitors haloed his fur. “You weren’t merely reacting to Sonic, Shadow - you were linked to him.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “Sonic couldn’t control it. He failed because the energy isn’t native to his physiology.”

“Correct,” Tails admitted. “Gerald Robotnik’s archived data confirms as much. After correlating with my memory of those records with your readings, the results align. Your physiology hasn’t rejected the Chaos field because of those.”

He pointed toward the gold rings encircling Shadow’s wrists.

“My inhibitor rings,” Shadow murmured.

Tails nodded. “Yes. They aren’t mere limiters - they’re modulators. They function as phase regulators, maintaining optimal energy flow and preventing overload. Without them, your Chaos field would destabilize under its own magnitude. You’d survive temporarily, but prolonged exposure would result in cellular degradation and genetic collapse.”

Shadow’s gaze lingered on the golden bands encircling his wrists, his reflection glinting faintly in their polished surface. “When I was young… There was an incident. I lost control during a Chaos event. The details are fragmented - burned out by the overload - but I remember the feeling before it happened.”

He hesitated, a rare shadow crossing his expression. “…Fear.”

Tails’ expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “That makes sense. During that accident, your Chaos Control manifested instinctively to protect you. The shard compensated, redirecting the excess energy into the surrounding space-time field rather than your own biological systems. Essentially, it vented the overload through dimensional displacement - Chaos Control - rather than allowing self-destruction.”

Shadow’s gaze darkened, his tone edged with restrained bitterness. “But it wasn’t clean.” He flexed his hand, the faint metallic glint of his inhibitor rings catching the light. “The feedback nearly tore me apart. I came out of it half-dead - dislocated shoulder, multiple fractures, internal trauma. If that was instinct…” He met Tails’ eyes, voice flat but heavy with meaning. “…then survival wasn’t mercy. It was consequence.”

Tails stiffened mid-thought, his ears angling back as hesitation tempered his usually steady tone. “Maybe…” he murmured, exhaling a quiet breath that carried more weight than he intended. After a moment, his gaze lifted toward Shadow, eyes reflecting both empathy and calculation. “But someone’s waiting for you, isn’t there?” he said softly. “So perhaps survival - no matter how it comes - isn't a mere consequence. It’s a reprieve. A small blessing that ensures you can still make it back to them.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion breaking through his composure. “How do you know about - ”

“I read the files, remember?” Tails interjected, a faint, knowing smile curving his mouth before it faded into seriousness. “And besides… I’m not sure how coherent you were, but you did say her name.” His tone softened, then steadied again as he turned back to the data streams. “But we’ll save that discussion for later. If you want that is. For now, let’s focus.” He glanced briefly toward Sonic’s still form, his expression tightening.

“Given your recount - and what happened today - we can deduce that you weren’t torn apart by the forced activation because the shard within you synchronized with the primary Emerald energy inside Sonic. The harmonic convergence between your respective Chaos fields generated a transient stabilizing field, neutralizing the destructive surge before it reached critical mass. In that instant, your inhibitor rings weren’t required.””

He tapped a few keys, highlighting the overlapping waveforms on-screen. “In essence, the shard acted as a failsafe. It identified the escalating instability and transmuted the raw destructive output into controlled spatial displacement energy - rewriting the event’s trajectory before the feedback could annihilate either of you.”

Shadow’s gaze returned to his hands, fingers brushing the rings’ smooth surface. They pulsed faintly - alive, resonant, almost breathing. “Then they’re the only thing ensuring I remain myself.”

“Precisely,” Tails said, voice low with scientific awe. “They maintain synchronization between your biological frequency and the shard’s. Without them, your cells would begin reconfiguring toward the shard’s chaotic resonance - rewriting your molecular identity from within.”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the low hum of the monitors.

Tails refocused on the twin signatures glowing across the display - Shadow’s steady and harmonic, Sonic’s blazing and erratic. “Here’s where it gets complex,” he continued. “When Sonic absorbed the Emerald, his energy output surged exponentially. Ordinarily, the system would stabilize - but the Chaos emerald was too strong and his field wasn’t isolated. It sought a counterpart.”

Shadow’s voice was quiet but certain. “It reached for mine.”

“For the shard,” Tails corrected. “They share a harmonic resonance. Your energy responded automatically, forming a temporary phase link. For a few seconds, your Chaos fields were synchronized across every measurable parameter - biological, energetic, even neurological.”

He turned to Shadow again, his tone subdued. “That’s why you sensed his pain when he began to lose control. The shard interpreted it as distress and attempted to restore equilibrium. You didn’t just perceive Sonic’s energy, Shadow - you felt him. His emotions, his pain.” 

“Theoretically, due to this, if Sonic had wanted to, he could’ve tapped into your chaos signature and wield it. The same way you used the additional energy to momentarily shut down the fail-safe inhibiting your chaos.” 

A long silence followed. The quiet hum of the lab filled the space between them as Shadow’s gaze flicked once more to the unconscious hedgehog resting nearby. His rings pulsed faintly, golden light catching the edge of his crimson eyes.

“…And if I hadn’t intervened?” he asked, low and deliberate.

Tails hesitated. “Then the resonance would’ve overloaded. You’d both have gone critical. Sonic’s system would’ve collapsed first - but yours…” He trailed off, swallowing. “Yours might’ve shattered trying to hold his together.”

Shadow said nothing for a long time. Then, quietly, he turned back toward the bed. “Hn. Typical.”

Tails blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Shadow’s gaze lingered on Sonic’s still form before softening - barely, but enough for the shift to be felt. “He nearly dies, and I’m the one who almost burns out saving him.”

A faint huff slipped past Tails’ lips - half sigh, half weary chuckle. “Yeah… that sounds about right,” he murmured, voice trailing into exhaustion. He turned in his chair, swiveling toward Shadow with a spark of curiosity that managed to pierce the fatigue in his amber eyes. “Tell me something - can you still access your Chaos abilities?”

Shadow’s reply came without hesitation, clipped and certain. “No. Whatever connection existed - it's severed. It let me reach through briefly, but once the resonance collapsed, the energy retracted entirely. The pathway’s inert. I can’t channel it the same way anymore.”

Tails exhaled sharply, the creak of the lab chair punctuating his frustration as he leaned back. “As expected. Fantastic,” he muttered under his breath, massaging his temples with grease-stained fingertips. “That would’ve been your strongest recorded output yet.” Tails’ gaze drifted to the floorboards, where faint scorch marks still marred the wood - remnants of Sonic’s Chaos flare from weeks ago. The burn had seared deep, dark veins into the grain, impossible to sand out no matter how many times Tails had tried. The faint tang of ozone still lingered beneath the sharper scent of solder and oil that filled his corner of the room - a cramped makeshift workspace of cables, blueprints, and half-assembled devices that hummed quietly in the dim light.

He sighed. “And if that couldn’t hold… then there’s only one direction left to go.”

Shadow tilted his head, eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. “And what does the echidna think of this… ‘direction’?”

The question cut deeper than intended. Tails froze, the flicker of guilt in his eyes betraying him before he looked away. His ears twitched back. “He - uh - doesn’t know. Not yet.” His fingers drummed nervously against the console. “I don’t think he’d take it well. Not until I’ve managed to decrypt the Ark’s sealed archives, at least.”

“You don’t want Knuckles to know,” Shadow observed, tone flat but not accusatory.

Tails swallowed, voice quiet but firm. “Not until I can prove something. If I tell him we’re experimenting with Chaos resonance again, especially by using the Master Emerald without the verifiable data - he’ll assume I’ve lost perspective. Or worse, that I’m putting Sonic at risk and playing into ‘your hands’. Whatever that means.”

Shadow’s jaw tightened, the faintest edge of impatience threading through his calm. “He’s deteriorating by the day, Tails.” His voice lowered, weight pressing behind each word. “When we were out there, Sonic nearly collapsed under a spontaneous influx of Chaos energy. His nervous system couldn’t stabilize the conversion. He choked on the surge. Barely recovered.” His crimson eyes flicked briefly toward the infirmary beyond the glass partition. “Today’s incident only aggravated the imbalance.”

“I - I know,” Tails stammered, the composure in his voice faltering. He looked away, ears flattening as the hum of the monitors filled the silence between them. “But I need to try - while we still ca - to find an alternative. Something sustainable. If we rush into using that kind of energy again, we’re gambling with forces that don’t belong in our world.”

For a moment, Shadow said nothing. His gaze lingered on Tails - calculating, but not unkind. The silence stretched long enough for the faint hum of the Chaos detectors to fill the void. Finally, he gave a single, deliberate nod.

“Very well,” he said, his tone low, measured. “I’ll leave the blue fool in your hands. Keep him stable.” His expression softened by a fraction - barely enough to be seen. “If he wakes, he’ll try to speak before he can stand. Don’t let him.”

Tails managed a tired half-smile. “You know him too well.”

The faint luminescence from the monitors drew pale outlines along Shadow’s quills as he turned toward the door. “That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “One of us has to keep a level head while the other tries to play nonchalant hero. He-” He gestured with a curt motion toward the bed, where Sonic lay still, his blue quills catching the light. “-has an uncanny gift for dragging the entire cosmos into his chaos. Someone has to make sure the idiot lives long enough to do it again.”

A tired chuckle escaped Tails, the sound somewhere between fondness and exasperation. “You say that like you weren’t right there beside him.”

For a heartbeat, silence hovered - comfortable, familiar. Then came a low grunt from Shadow, the sound almost like a sigh. “Hn. I never said I wasn’t.”

Tails leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, the soft blue glow of the screens painting the exhaustion into his features. “You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “when Knuckles finds out we’ve been running Chaos diagnostics behind his back, he’s gonna lose it.”

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Shadow said, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying that unshakable edge of pragmatism. As he moved toward the exit, the low hum of the equipment carved his silhouette into the dim light-fractured lines of shadow and gold glint tracing the curve of his quills. “Once you have results worth his temper, Knuckles will come around.”

Tails looked up at him, exhaustion softening his usual sharpness. One brow arched, the faintest spark of curiosity flickering beneath the fatigue. “You sound awfully confident I’ll manage that.”

Shadow turned slightly, crimson eyes catching the pale shimmer of the setting sun. They gleamed like glass under a forge - cold, precise, yet tempered by something almost human. “You’ve come too far to fail now,” he said, each word clipped but resonant, laced with quiet certainty rather than command. Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower, more weighted. “Don’t make me regret believing that, fox”

He dreamt of her.

Yet for once, the dream wasn’t buried beneath chaos. There was no scent of scorched air or the roar of collapsing earth, no blinding light tearing through the horizon. The world was still - eerily still - bathed in a muted glow that felt neither warm nor cold, only gentle. He could almost feel it brushing against him, the whisper of a hand he didn’t recognize, the echo of a voice that seemed to speak his name like it meant something.

But who was she?

The thought pulsed at the edge of his consciousness, insistent and unreachable. Her face blurred every time he tried to focus, dissolving into color and sound - gold, white, laughter, silence. Something about her presence ached, like remembering a song without its melody. He didn’t know her, and yet, in the quiet between heartbeats, he felt as though he should.

The air tasted of metal and sterility. Soft light pressed through a haze of white and silver, humming faintly with the rhythm of machines. He didn’t know where he was - or why his chest felt too tight to breathe - only that someone was lying before him, delicate and trembling beneath thin sheets.

Her skin was nearly translucent, the faint blue of veins visible beneath the pallor. Sweat glistened across her brow, catching the sterile light like tiny shards of glass. Each breath she took sounded curdled, too shallow, too strained - as if her lungs fought against an invisible weight.

A voice - not entirely his own - spoke before he could think. “Your hands are freezing,” he murmured. His voice, though higher, still carried that same gravity Sonic knew - gentle, restrained, full of something unspoken.

He felt the words vibrate in his throat, low and soft, unfamiliar. He watched as those dark, trembling hands - his hands, yet not - lifted to meet her pale ones. The contact was feather-light, reverent. Her skin was cool beneath his touch, and yet the sensation filled his chest with warmth.

Her lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes the color of a cloudless sky - dimmed by pain, but still impossibly kind. She blinked once, then smiled faintly. “They are?” she said gently, surprise fluttering across her expression like a passing shadow. Then came her smile - small, radiant, the kind that belonged to someone who still believed in gentleness despite everything. She let her fingers sink into the fur of his cheek, burying themselves slightly in the dark texture. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, tracing the soft ridges of her knuckles, desperate to stir warmth into her cold skin. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you something warmer.”

He tried to lift her hand from his face, but she didn’t let him. Her grip was weak - trembling, yet stubborn - refusing to release him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. A tremor passed through her voice, thin as thread. Her half-lidded eyes drifted toward him, unfocused but trusting. “I’m not cold.”

He could see the effort it cost her to speak - the way her chest rose too slowly, the flicker of strain in her throat. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, following the fragile curve of her jaw.

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth before he could think them. They came with a pang of emotion so deep it frightened him - worry, fear, love - feelings that didn’t belong to him but burned through him all the same.

She smiled again, faint but real. “You worry too much,” she breathed. “You always do.”

A name rose unbidden, heavy with belonging. “You’re my sister, Maria.” The voice sounded strange in his own ears - steadier, deeper - and yet it broke with quiet desperation. “I can’t help it.”

Sonic felt - or rather, the body he wore felt - his ears flatten, pressing down into the soft dark of quills that weren’t his. The motion carried instinct, muscle memory not born from him.

Maria’s eyes shimmered - not with tears alone, but with a sorrow too old for someone so young. “I know,” she whispered, a fragile smile returning. “And that’s why I’m sorry.”

She sniffed, a tiny, trembling sound, and something inside him lurched painfully in response. He couldn’t stop his hand from moving - lifting hers gently from his cheek and guiding it against the white tuft of fur at his chest. The sensation was instinctively comforting, though he didn’t understand why. He shifted closer, scanning her face, her shoulders, the thin curve of her arms for any sign of injury.

“Are you in pain?” he asked - the question spilling out quicker than breath, heavy with an urgency he didn’t understand. “Do you need Dr. Robotnik to bring more medication?”

Her expression tightened - a small, involuntary wince. “N-No,” she whispered, shaking her head with sudden effort. “Don’t call Gramps. Please.” Her fingers twitched weakly where they rested against his chest, the gesture light but pleading. “I just… feel bad. But I’m not aching anywhere.”

He leaned closer, instinct driving him before thought could intervene. The rhythm in his chest quickened, fierce and protective - emotions surging that weren’t his own yet felt carved into his bones. “But you’re crying,” he said softly.

Her lashes fluttered, and a fragile smile trembled across her lips - the kind that fought to exist in defiance of tears. “I know,” she murmured, her voice a fading thread. “Sometimes it just happens.”

“And what instance makes you cry now, if not pain?” he asked - part concern, part genuine confusion. He didn’t understand why he cared so deeply, only that he did. Sonic had known emotion in many forms - joy, fear, anger - though he often hid them beneath walls of bravado and laughter. Yet here, sitting in this unfamiliar body on a rolling chair beside a girl with hair like sunlight and a face he didn’t know, the feeling was different. Raw. Intimate. Human.

She hesitated, the silence stretching thin between them. Then her voice cracked. “I… I feel I’ve let you down.”

He blinked, stunned - not by her words, but by the ache that rose in his throat as she spoke them. Her gaze lifted to meet his - to meet those deep crimson eyes that stared back with a yearning he didn’t recognize as his own.

“I’m supposed to be the older sibling,” she continued softly, her voice trembling like the air before a storm. “The one who shouldn’t make you worry. I hate seeing you frown because I can’t even get out of bed.”

Another tear slipped free, carving a gleaming path down her cheek. She tried to brush it away, but her strength faltered halfway.

“Maria…” The name slipped from his tongue like starlight breaking through a storm - reverent, aching, eternal. His frown deepened despite the fragile smile she tried to hold. Carefully, he reached up, brushing the glistening trails of her tears from her lashes with the back of his trembling hand.

“There is not a single thing in the cosmos you could ever do to disappoint me,” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. “Not beneath the gaze of the stars, nor under the dying breath of any sun.”

For a heartbeat, she only stared - blue eyes wide and wet, reflecting the pale light above like fragments of the heavens themselves. Her lips parted, and a quiet, broken sound escaped her - a sob that seemed too soft to belong in such a cold room.

But then something in him snapped - a spark, quick and sharp as lightning across a dark sky. His voice dropped, quiet but fierce, burning with a restrained intensity.

“Never say that again,” he warned, the words trembling with emotion he couldn’t contain. “I won’t tolerate it next time.”

The air stilled. Her eyes widened, startled by the gravity behind his tone. But beneath the sternness there was no cruelty - only desperation, the kind that came from loving something too fragile for the world it inhabited.

“O-Okay.” She hummed softly, her voice fragile but steadying, a faint spark of determination flickering back to life in her eyes. Beneath the sterile light, she shifted weakly under the blankets, her breath shallow yet defiant - the kind of breath that fought, even as it trembled.

“You always get so serious,” she murmured, her tone laced with a teasing warmth that couldn’t quite hide the exhaustion beneath. “Even when you’re trying to be kind.”

He exhaled - a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh - and bowed his head, hiding the tremor that threatened his composure. 

Her hand found his once more, light as moonlight and just as fleeting, her thumb tracing slow circles over the curve of his glove. “Then… promise me something,” she whispered. “If one day I can’t keep up… if I’m not here anymore - please, for the people who live on Earth… give them a chance to be happy.”

Her gaze wavered, but her voice did not. “Try to see the good in them, the same way you saw it in me. Promise me you’ll try.”

His head shot up at once, eyes burning - anger, fear, and denial flashing in the depths of that crimson stare. “That won’t be necessary,” he said sharply, the words trembling with a conviction that bordered on desperation. “This disease will not defeat you. I am your cure.”

“Shadow…” Her voice faltered, but she pushed on, even as her breath came ragged and shallow. “I’m getting worse with every flu, every fever. My immune system’s breaking down - I can feel it. I may not bounce back next time… or the time after that… or the one after that.”

Her chapped lips quivered, cracking with every desperate word that left her. Still, she smiled through it - soft, sad, and unbearably bright. “And I believe you’ll save me. I do. You’re my greatest hope.” Her hand tightened faintly around his. “But my time… it’s running short. And the cure - it’s not here yet.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence between them felt cosmic - endless, suffocating, brimming with everything that shouldn’t exist between two hearts bound so close. The faint whir of machinery blurred into static, the rhythm of her pulse echoing weakly beneath it. Every beat was a countdown.

His chest ached - not just with sorrow, but with something older, fiercer. The kind of ache born from devotion, from helplessness. He wanted to shatter the universe itself, to bend the laws of creation until they yielded to his will. Yet when he finally spoke, his voice emerged low, shaking - heavy with everything he couldn’t say.

“Don’t speak like that,” he whispered. “You don’t get to fade away. Not while I exist.”

Her eyes glimmered - sorrow and love entwined like twin constellations burning in the dark. “Then live enough for both of us,” she murmured. “And when the stars feel too far… remember, I never doubted you.”

The words lingered in the sterile air like the last note of a song.

Sonic - caught within the shell of this borrowed body - felt her fingers slacken against his palm. The faint rhythm of her breathing quivered, uneven, fading into the hush of machines. The world around them dimmed, collapsing inward until there was nothing left but her face - pale, peaceful, heartbreakingly still in her sleep.

He didn’t know her.

But her pain burned through him like it was his own - deep, searing, eternal.

This wasn’t just a dream.

It was a memory carved into someone’s soul.

“Shadow…” The voice from the doorway rippled through the silence - steady, distant, belonging to someone who’d seen this scene too many times. “It’s time to go. The nurses are waiting.”

When Sonic awoke the next morning, he was greeted by the anxious faces of his brothers leaning over him - their voices hushed, their eyes wide with worry. And beyond them, at the foot of his bed, stood the dark figure whose memories he had just lived.

Shadow watched in silence, his expression unreadable, though something in his eyes glowed faintly - the same quiet sorrow Sonic had felt when Maria had drifted into that uneasy sleep.

A strange heaviness settled in Sonic’s chest. He didn’t understand what he had seen… or why it mattered so much.

He decided he wouldn’t mention it. Not yet.

Chapter Text

“I still don’t understand how you didn’t crack your cast or end up back in bed after that electrical mishap,” Tom said with a faint, amused breath. “But hey - at least it can come off now, right?” 

The scissors whispered through the blue plaster, splitting it apart in slow, deliberate snips. Beneath, the cotton was pressed flat and dulled with age. The shell itself bore the faint shadow of a scorch mark - a reminder of that same accident Tom mentioned from two weeks ago.

Aside from that, it was mostly clean. Mostly. Near the ankle, a lopsided star and a crooked little hedgehog grinned up through the faded blue, speech bubble declaring, “Gotta go fast!”

Sonic had snuck it on one night, when Shadow’s leg had slipped over the edge of the bed and dangled just above him on his air mattress. The drawing had been waiting there by morning - ugly, childish, unmistakably Sonic.

Shadow’s gaze lingered on it longer than he meant to. The burn, the worn ink, the ridiculous sketch - it was reckless, stupid… and yet alive in a way he wasn’t used to. Messy. Flawed. Somehow… comforting.

Something tightened  in his chest - insistent, like a coil slowly unspooling - as the cast cracked and shifted, releasing the weight that had pressed against his ankle. He told himself it was nothing. Just an observation. Yet the longer he stared at the empty space where pressure once pressed, the harder that lie became to hold.

He found himself reluctant to let the drawing go - the same one he’d once grumbled about under his breath.

“There.” Tom brushed aside the remnants of plaster and gauze, the faint scrape of debris against the floor punctuating the quiet. When he looked up, his gaze met Shadow’s - steady, unguarded, saying far more than words ever could. Then, with a patience Shadow still struggled to understand, Tom drew his ankle into his lap. His hands were warm, firm, careful in a way that seemed deliberate yet unspokenly kind.

Shadow had not known this kind of gentleness before - not in the Ark’s sterile halls, not in the chaos that followed. Six weeks under their roof, and still it unsettled him. He ate their food, sat through their idle talk, watched as they laughed and scolded and forgave with an ease that felt almost foreign. Maddie’s sharp wit tempered by warmth; Tom’s rough edges softened by care; the children’s laughter spilling through the house like something unmanufactured. It was all… so human. And yet, not the kind of human he remembered.

He had long thought Maria naive for believing in their goodness - for asking him to protect them, to see them. But here, in this small house that smelled of coffee and rain, where kindness came without agenda, he began to understand what she might have meant.

“Let me know if this hurts,” Tom said, his tone low and even as he pressed his thumb along the line of Shadow’s calf, testing for tension or strain.

“It feels fine,” Shadow replied, giving a short nod. He felt the pressure - firm, methodical - but no trace of the sharp pain he half-expected. Only the faint echo of warmth where Tom’s hand had been, and a flicker of unfamiliar trust he tried not to dwell on.

Normally, this task would’ve fallen to Maddie. She had the healer’s hands, steady and confident, with an ease that came from years of patching up creatures who couldn’t speak their pain aloud. But a call had come early that morning - emergency surgery at the clinic - and she’d left in a flurry of scrubs and apologies.

Tom had stepped in without complaint, though Shadow could tell it wasn’t his usual role. 

His hands lacked her practiced grace; his touch was more tentative, guided by instinct rather than training. The pressure of his thumb wavered now and then, as though he wasn’t entirely sure where to press or how much was too much. But there was no trace of fear in him - no revulsion, no guarded curiosity like the kind Shadow remembered from the Ark. Just a quiet determination to do right by someone who wasn’t human.

And somehow, that unsettled him more than cruelty ever had.

Kindness, he’d learned, was often a disguise - a fragile veil over pity or fear. But this wasn’t that. This was something quieter. Realer. And he didn’t know what to do with it.

He told himself it was obligation - some human instinct to tend to the wounded guest sleeping under their roof. That explanation fit neatly enough, but the way Tom’s brow furrowed in focus, the small exhale when he found no pain… it felt like more. Too much. Too gentle.

Like he was one of them.

The thought hit him like static under his skin, faint but insistent. He couldn’t let it root. He wasn’t one of them. He never could be.

He couldn’t let himself believe it. Couldn’t afford to.

And yet, in the space between Tom’s steady hands and the sound of the rain on the roof, an illusion stirred. A voice conjured from longing - Maria, soft and certain, cutting through the haze of the quiet. This could be your star, she eagerly said, not the one you came from, but the one you choose to stay on.

He could almost see her smile in the corner of his mind, radiant and fragile all at once. They’re good for you, she might’ve whispered now, if you let them see you.

It left him caught in that endless loop again. Trust. Don’t trust. Accept. Deny. He didn’t know what he felt anymore - only that every act of kindness seemed to tangle the lines further, blurring where the enemy ended and something gentler began. The humans - and the Mobians who he could barely tolerate - only made the puzzle harder to solve.

“All done!” Shadow blinked, the illusion snapping like a wire.

He hadn’t noticed Tom rinsing the last traces of plaster away, hadn’t felt the warmth of soapy water soaking through his fur until now.

“I’m not Maddie,” Tom said, wringing out the towel with a crooked grin, “but I’m sure she’d tell you something like - ‘be careful, and watch your step.’”

For a long moment, Shadow said nothing. The words hung between them - ordinary, harmless - but somehow heavier than he expected. Finally, he let his voice slip out, low and measured. “I will…”He shifted then, precise and controlled, sliding from the edge of the dining table to the floor with quiet deliberation.

“I have to organize some things I brought home from work,” Tom continued, already moving toward the counter, “but I’ll make dinner after. Why don’t you go see what Tails is working on until I call you? I’m sure the little man would love to tell you all about it.”

Shadow’s gaze lingered a moment longer, a quiet acknowledgment flickering behind his eyes, before he turned. Each step was deliberate, each movement precise - still wary, still learning the rhythms of this strange, gentle world. And on his way out, he didn’t thank Tom for tending to him.

He never did. 

He paused at the tangle of Ozzy’s eager nudges and the scattered remnants of Knuckles’ eccentric collections on the floor. For a heartbeat, he hesitated - then bent, gathering the stray objects into his arms. Each movement was careful, deliberate, carrying them upstairs with the quiet attentiveness of someone learning the unspoken rituals that kept a home running.

It was subtle, almost unconscious. A chore, yes - but also a gesture: a sign that he wasn’t merely a guest here. He was beginning, in his own guarded way, to belong.

Tom watched him go, chin resting in his palm, eyes following the black hedgehog as he disappeared around the staircase corner. There was something quietly remarkable in the way Shadow moved - not just through the house, but through the life of it - tentative, precise, yet slowly, undeniably, making it his own.

Inside, Tails sat cross-legged on the floor, wholly absorbed in the delicate guts of some half-finished gadget. A scatter of screws, wires, and tiny metal components surrounded him like a miniature scrapyard, each piece placed with the unconscious precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times. His ears flicked with every tiny click of his tools, but nothing pulled his focus from the device in his lap.

Above him, Sonic lay sprawled upside-down across the top bunk, arms folded over his chest, one foot hanging lazily off the edge. He swung it back and forth in a slow, idle rhythm, gaze fixed upward as if the ceiling tiles held the secrets of the universe - or at least something more interesting than sitting still. The faint creak of the bunk and Sonic’s soft, thoughtful hum filled the room around Tails’ quiet mechanical clicks, the two rhythms weaving into an easy, familiar harmony.

“Why does the echidna always insist on placing his things in the same spot every day?” Shadow muttered as he nudged the door open, stepping into the room. 

Shadow’s gaze drifted instantly to the familiar mound of objects arranged along the wall - stones, mismatched trinkets, scraps of string and metal, each one set down with almost obsessive exactness. The collection looked less like a pile and more like a carefully curated display, every piece claiming a precise patch of wall as if assigned by some silent, unbreakable order. They stood in their neat rows like soldiers awaiting inspection, giving the uneasy impression that the entire room - perhaps the entire world - depended on their perfect alignment.

He tilted his head, brow furrowing. The sight frustrated him almost physically. How could anyone - anyone - be so meticulous? So obsessed with something so… pointless? His chest tightened, a subtle, prickling irritation coiling in his stomach. Shadow didn’t see sense in it. The objects didn’t do anything; they weren’t tools or weapons. Yet Knuckles treated them like the most valuable treasure in existence.

Tails, apparently sensing Shadow’s stare, looked up without slowing his hands. “It’s a habit,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Knuckles says organising things helps him stay focused - keeps the chaos from getting to him. Everything in its place… it’s like a grounding thing for him.” He paused only long enough to fumble with a screwdriver before adding, “Every Mobian corresponds to an Earth species, right?”

“Yes…” Shadow’s eyes narrowed. He had never understood the human - or Mobian - obsession with these strange rituals. The deliberate tidying. The repetitions. The insistence on order for its own sake. It felt unnatural, restrictive. Every day, the same measured motions, the same careful placement of objects. It made no sense to him.

And yet… even as irritation coiled in his chest, something kept his gaze anchored. The way the pieces mirrored each other, the way they settled into the quiet rhythm of the room, the calm they brought to the creatures who lived here - it was maddening. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

But… each to their own, he supposed, even if he couldn’t begin to understand it. 

“Well, Knuckles is an echidna, so he just… does that,” Tails continued, his voice hitching with mild embarrassment as he gestured toward the very corner where Shadow stood. “And I’m a fox, so without really thinking about it, I kind of… cache. Hide extra food around the house.” He gave a helpless little shrug. “It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I’ve never done anything like that,” Shadow muttered as he set the items down - not aligned, not integrated into the tidy arrangement, but placed gently at the base of the collection. Out of the way, yet unmistakably part of it. He refused to tamper with the structure Knuckles had so meticulously built. Whatever order the echidna maintained here, Shadow wasn’t about to disrupt it.

“Oh, you most definitely have,” Tails giggled, his twin tails flicking with unmistakable mischief. “For starters, you’re always brushing through and detangling your quills. Sonic does that too. Typical hedgehog behaviour.”

“I do not.” But the protest came out too quickly, and his hands betrayed him - rising instinctively to the nape of his neck, fingers finding the one stray quill angling left.

“You do,” Sonic called down from the bunk, eyes still shut, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Shadow yanked his hand away at once, a dark glare sharpening his gaze as he brushed his palm down his side, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever. The echidna’s habit is far worse.”

“I’m telling you,” Sonic groaned, flinging his arms up, “I could count on two hands - maybe even borrow a few toes - how many times I’ve face-planted over one of his stupid little piles!” He shifted, letting his head loll over the edge. “My chin’s practically carved its own dent in the floor at this point!”

Shadow, though he’d never admit it aloud, understood the sentiment all too well. He’d stumbled over Knuckles’ meticulously arranged heaps more times than he cared to remember. The objects never drifted - always returned to their exact places with uncanny precision - and yet he still managed to catch a foot on them. Not that he would ever confess such a thing to Sonic. Some truths were better left unspoken.

“Your coordination has always been questionable,” he said instead, voice flat with just the faintest, almost invisible thread of teasing woven through it.

Sonic gasped theatrically from above, but Shadow ignored him, circling past Tails’ makeshift workstation and toward his own bed.

“My coordination is perfectly fine!” Sonic declared, propping himself up with a roll of his eyes. “Gravity and I just… have a complicated relationship!”

“I doubt gravity cares,” Shadow replied smoothly. “Though I suppose you could trip over empty air too.”

“Empty air?!” Sonic spluttered. “That’s it! I’m filing a complaint with the atmosphere!” He flopped back onto the mattress, bouncing dramatically as if personally offended by the laws of physics.

Tails burst into laughter, tools rattling as his shoulders shook. Shadow let a small, reluctant tug at the corner of his mouth betray him - the faintest smirk - before settling onto his own bed, palms braced on the frame, quietly watching the chaos unravel with a level of patience he refused to acknowledge.

Tails’ eyes folded into gentle crescents as dying giggles spilled out of him, his whole face brightening with the motion. His fur seemed to take on a warmer, burnished gold, and a rosy tint crept across his cheeks. Even the very tips of his three tails gave a small, eager quiver, as though the joy running through him needed somewhere to escape.

Shadow wouldn’t have labelled it wholesome - not verbally, not consciously. But the feeling settled in him regardless. That familiar weight in his chest, the one that had been gathering strength bit by bit, growing heavier and warmer like an ember he couldn’t stamp out. It was the nearest thing he’d come to the gentle quiet Maria used to draw from him with nothing more than a smile.

He felt it with Sonic, too. In the way the hedgehog’s quills snapped with a playful charge that vanished the moment a joke tripped over his own tongue. In the flash of green eyes bright with mischief. In the way he curled a hand over his muzzle, trying - and failing - to hide the single crooked fang that always betrayed his grin.

Shadow didn’t have the vocabulary for any of it.

Had no name for any of it - one that fit.

Only the sensation - warm, intrusive, persistent - and the silence he kept wrapped around it.

Oh, how he missed her - The thought rose unbidden, raw and luminous, and it cleaved straight through the fragile warmth he’d let settle in his chest. The feeling he’d let linger for a moment twisted sharp, reminding him that its shape existed only because she was absent.

It was unbearable.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

He shut it down.

“So,” Shadow said, cutting cleanly through the quiet, his voice flattening into something cool and grounded, “how is the chaos conductor coming along?”

Both Sonic and Tails looked up, the shift in his tone pulling their attention immediately.

“And the ARK files?” he continued, chasing the questions before the lingering ache could anchor itself any deeper. He focused his gaze on the nearest object that wasn’t a face, wasn’t a memory - the floorboards beneath his boots.

Only then did he realise his foot was tapping, a precise, restless rhythm against the wood. An unconscious tell.
One he shouldn’t have let himself notice. 

“It’s… I’m getting there,” Tails said quietly. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden heaviness Shadow brought with him, and his ears dipped for a moment before he forced them upright again. His hands returned to the battered chunk of metal in front of him - no real device yet, just a skeleton of parts he was teasing apart while he thought.

“It has to be strong enough to neutralise the energy inside Sonic and hold the chaos from six emeralds at once,” he murmured, brow tightening as he pried a stubborn bolt loose. “It’s not exactly… simple. But I’ll finish it.”

Sonic opened his mouth to speak, but Tails continued, slipping back into the rhythm of work and explanation.

“With you here, most of the strain won’t fall on this,” the fox said, twisting a wire free with careful fingers. “Honestly, you’ll end up carrying the bulk of it.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a flicker of worry behind it, visible in the way his tails slowed their movement.

“But the conductor’s density will help stabilise both your chaos signatures now that we know they’re interlinked,” he went on, voice steadying as he delved into the details. “Separating Sonic’s life-force from the emerald’s influence is… delicate. You’d basically be peeling them apart at the edges, and working inside him with raw chaos energy might cause complications.”

He finally set the piece of metal aside, exhale soft but resolute.

“This will make the process cleaner,” he finished, “if not… at least a little less painful.”

“Wait-” Sonic dropped from the top bunk in a fluid blur, somersaulting once before landing on his knees beside Tails. His quills lifted in a faint, nervous halo. “This is going to hurt?”

His voice cracked on the last word. Those sapphire eyes - usually sharp, defiant, burning with speed - blew wide into trembling saucers. They flicked to Shadow, then back to the fox’s hands, watching every careful shift of metal like they were tiny blades aimed at him. His breath stuttered as Tails’ fingers kept working, methodical and mercilessly calm.

Tails paused only long enough for a soft sigh to escape him, one edged with apology and dread. “Sonic… maybe. Probably.” His tail tips dragged low, betraying the gravity behind his tone. “We’re dealing with the core of what keeps you alive and the force that nearly tears you apart. There’s no version of this that feels good.”

Shadow shifted his weight, the floorboard groaning under his heel. Sonic’s gaze darted to him again - seeking something stable, something steady - before snapping back to the fox.

“But,” Tails continued, lifting a piece of alloy that glinted like captured lightning, “this will buffer the worst of it. Without it? The process would be like… ripping chaos energy out with bare hands. With this, it’ll be more like guiding it out through a controlled channel.” He glanced between them, brows knitting. “Still risky. Still painful. But survivable.”

Sonic swallowed, the sound loud in the heavy room. “Shadow,” he whispered, barely audible, “you didn’t tell me it’d be like… this.”

Shadow’s expression didn’t change - but the space around him seemed to compress, the air drawing taut as if a storm had curled inward on itself. A subtle current threaded through him, foreign yet unmistakably familiar: Sonic’s fear. It brushed along his own chaos like a tremor against glass, something he could sense now only because he finally understood what their energies had become - entwined, resonant, impossible to ignore.

Sonic was afraid. Deeply. And that alone was why Shadow could feel it at all. He studied him for a moment, marveling silently at how well Sonic concealed it - no crease of panic marred his features, no falter in posture betrayed the torrent inside.

His voice, when it came, was low and controlled, a calm carved rather than found. “I did not know the specifics,” he said quietly. “But I assumed the cost would be… significant.”

“I’m sorry, Sonic.” Tails looked up, his voice tight with sincerity, a sheen of tears glinting in his eyes. “If I could find another way… you know I would.”

Sonic’s jaw dropped for a moment before he shook his head, forcing a small, uneven smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that, buddy,” he said, voice steadier than he felt, reaching out to run a hand lightly between the fox’s ears in a gesture of comfort. “You’re doing everything you can.”

He straightened slightly, letting his grin widen just a little, bravado slipping back in. “I’m strong. I’m the Blue Blur! Chaos energy tangled up in my life and soul? Pfft. What a joke. Eggman was probably harder to take down than this.”

Sonic’s humor barely veiled the tension coiled beneath the words, and Tails’ fingers froze mid-motion over the scattered metal parts, silently acknowledging the weight behind Sonic’s showmanship. Shadow sat nearby, motionless but alert, a steady presence that pressed against the room like gravity itself. His sharp gaze swept between the two of them, assessing, protective, absorbing the pull of Tails’ guilt and the quiet tremor of Sonic’s fear.

A familiar, subtle tug of responsibility settled over him, anchoring him in the middle of it all. He noted the unspoken depth in Sonic’s joke - but chose to ignore it, letting the bravado stand unchallenged, at least for now.

The warmth from earlier returned, small and insistent, pulsing through him with a sharp, almost painful tremor. His hand clenched the edge of the bedframe, knuckles whitening, as he leaned forward slightly, drawn toward them despite himself. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they had worked their way past the walls he’d built around himself, slipping into the quiet corners of his guarded soul - the same way Maria once had.

Even the humans he had long regarded with suspicion, resentment, and at times loathing were starting to touch that space, albeit faintly, indirectly, through Tails’ quiet diligence and Sonic’s reckless personality.

Knuckles… remained uncertain. Still a puzzle, a force he had yet to fully reckon with. Yet he could see the bond between the echidna and the two before him, and by that measure alone, Knuckles had become important. And by extension, perhaps unwillingly, so had Shadow himself - drawn into a fragile, reluctant responsibility that rooted him in ways he rarely allowed.

He exhaled softly, though no sound escaped his lips. Fine. Let it be that way.

“You won’t be alone in this,” Shadow said, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, steady, carrying the same firm, unyielding tone he once used with his sister - when she was sick and tried to slip out of bed before she was ready. “I’ll handle whatever I can. And Tails… we’ll make sure it’s as controlled as possible.”

Sonic blinked, caught off guard by the gravity in Shadow’s voice. “Y-You will…?” His words wavered, disbelief tangled with a flicker of hope, as if such certainty shouldn’t exist.

“Hm.” Shadow’s single, deliberate nod was all the confirmation he offered, but it carried weight enough to anchor the storm of doubt in Sonic’s chest. Sonic felt it resonate through their shared chaos bond, a thread of unshakable resolve slithering along the edges of his own determination.

The blue hedgehog swallowed, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and for once, he didn’t try to mask the tremor in his posture. He straightened his shoulders, quills twitching as though catching the momentum of Shadow’s conviction. “Alright,” he said finally, voice steadier, though his sapphire eyes still flickered with the tension he couldn’t entirely hide. “Let’s do this - together.”

Tails gave a small, approving nod, tail tips twitching in nervous anticipation. “Step by step,” he murmured, returning to his work, but his hands moved with renewed purpose, as if Shadow’s presence and promise had steadied not only Sonic but the fox himself.

“Oh -!” when he suddenly stopped mid‑sentence, ears flicking as the thought hit him. “The ARK files! They’re almost done. I built a program that can bypass the malware on its own, so I don’t have to keep manually clearing it out. It’s at… about sixty‑seven percent right now, and if it keeps running smoothly, it should be fully decrypted by next week!”

“You designed a program on the side of… all of this?” Sonic gasped, waving a hand dramatically at the scattered chaos around them.

“Uh… yeah?” Tails said, scratching the back of his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Honestly, it was faster than manually going through each file. I mean, if I’m already here managing the conductor and monitoring Sonic, why waste time doing it the old way?”

Sonic shook his head, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Only you, Tails. Only you would multitask like this while we’re literally dealing with chaos energy and near-death stuff.”

“Thanks, I guess?” 

Shadow’s dark eyes swept to Tails, face unreadable as always. He already knew the fox’s intellect - methodical, capable, relentless - but witnessing this effort, the time Tails had devoted to fulfill the one thing Shadow had asked for, drew a reluctant acknowledgment from him.

A faint current of warmth threaded through his chest again, restrained yet persistent, like an ember fanned into life. It wasn’t admiration, not fully - it was the subtle recognition that someone had deliberately chosen to invest themselves for him. That care, so measured and precise, meant something.

Shadow didn’t move, didn’t comment. He remained still, controlled, but the faint buzz of warmth lingered beneath the surface, quiet, tethered, undeniable. Even without words, he was aware: he was impressed. And, in his own way, he allowed himself to accept it.

He was grateful. 

“But - the problem with the conductor is this piece,” Tails said, turning with a frown as he retrieved a small, unfinished component. “It’s broken. And if I try to fix it manually, it’ll be a total mess… I’d probably have to start all over.”

“What is it?” Sonic asked, quills bristling with curiosity and concern, as Shadow silently rose and moved behind them, his presence dark and steady.

Tails held up the tiny crystalline lattice. “The Conduit Alignment Matrix. It… lines up the direction of chaos flow through the conductor. Without it, the energy won’t stabilize, and the whole system could fail.”

Sonic peered over the fox’s shoulder. “Wait, wait, wait… you’re telling me one tiny piece is holding the whole thing hostage? Really?”

“If I had chaos as strong as yours or Knuckles’, maybe I’d try to fix it,” Tails added, his voice tight with worry. “But I don’t. And I’m not letting either of you attempt it.”

Shadow leaned in, eyes narrowing on the lattice. He didn’t speak - there was no need. He couldn’t project his chaos outward, but its presence within him pulsed like a quiet compass, attuned to the subtle flows around him. The broken lines inside the crystal were faint, almost invisible, yet he could feel the disturbance - the energy misaligned, uneven, struggling against its own path.

“And why not-?” 

“Because you lack the knowledge to deal with something so-”

Carefully, methodically, Shadow lifted the lattice from Tails’ hands. A quiet, startled “Hey!” slipped from the fox, but he didn’t pull back. Shadow’s fingers moved with absolute precision, adjusting the tiny crystalline channels, guided by the instinctive sense of how the energy should flow. It wasn’t chaos being wielded - it was his understanding of it, the way he could feel the currents within the crystal and translate that awareness into exact mechanical corrections. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the lattice began to hum evenly, the misaligned pathways settling into perfect order under his steady, unerring touch.

Tails blinked, eyes wide, as Shadow gave a subtle nod and tossed the lattice back. The fox stumbled slightly, scrambling to catch it. “I… it’s fixed? But I didn’t - how -”

Sonic’s jaw dropped. “Shadow… did you just - ?”

Shadow’s eyes met theirs for a fleeting second, sharp and unreadable. No words, no explanation. Just a tilt of his head and a faint flicker of acknowledgment in his gaze, as if to say: It’s done.

Tails’ ears twitched, still processing what had just happened. He glanced at Shadow, awe and a trace of something warmer - gratitude, maybe - woven through the shock. “I… I don’t even know what to say,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How did you do that? Your chaos is suppressed.” 

Shadow’s gaze flicked to Sonic, though Tails had asked. A hint of pride edged his usually unreadable expression - he had finally found a moment worth quietly bragging about. “I am the ultimate lifeform,” he said, his voice low but carrying that imperceptible weight of certainty. “I was surrounded by the best doctors to learn everything about chaos energy. You really think a tiny arrangement - despite my lack of external control - would be beyond me?”

Sonic raised an eyebrow, a faint question tugging at his mouth, but said nothing. Tails let out a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Huh… I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, carefully taking the lattice and slotting it into the gap he had set aside for later repair. The piece fit perfectly, humming faintly as it settled.

“Thanks, Shadow,” he added, voice quiet but sincere. “It won’t be long now with your help.” 

“Just… make sure it stays aligned.” Shadow inclined his head, the faintest flicker of surprise passing through him, so brief it almost went unnoticed.

“Of course,” Tails chirped, tail tips twitching with renewed energy. Sonic watched quietly, but his gaze wasn’t on the lattice or the conductor - it was on Shadow, on the calm, controlled figure who moved with the same precision and confidence he almost recognized in himself.

Ultimate lifeform… Doctors…

The thought lingered, twisting in the back of his mind like a persistent echo he couldn’t shake. Hours later, after Shadow had gone to check on Knuckles, Sonic shifted, leaning just slightly into his brother’s side as the room seemed to cool around him. His voice was barely more than a whisper, threaded with curiosity - and a hint of something he wasn’t ready to name. “What did he mean by that…?”

But Tails didn’t hear. He’d planned it that way, keeping the question tucked away, like a fragment of the dream he wasn’t ready to share.

It was strange. Something didn’t add up. And he was determined - quietly, stubbornly - to find out why. 

Ultimate lifeform… doctors…

Ultimate lifeform… doctors…

Ultimate lifeform… doctors…

Ultimate lifeform… doctors…

Chapter Text

Shadow was sick of it - of all of it. Thirty days had passed like a slow bruise blooming, each one revealing more than he could stomach.

His head throbbed with every near-miss of their gazes skirting past each other, every stiff exhale Sonic let slip when Knuckles pretended not to hear him. The tension rippled ahead of him like a stone breaking the surface of still water; he felt it before he even crossed the threshold into whatever room they occupied. It prickled along the half-healed scar of his now-unwrapped bullet wound, a phantom itch whispering of things that should have faded long ago. And still Knuckles faltered, unable to form even a single sentence to cut through the silence trembling between them in thin, fractured ribbons.

He was sick of it - every frayed thread. The tension. The quiet longing to fix what had shattered. The resentment. The heavy regret hanging low between brothers who refused to look it in the eye.

And Tails, bright as always, remained just as oblivious as the two of them.

Shadow hadn’t needed long to realise something in their dynamic was off. Even as complete strangers to him, he could tell the careful tiptoeing between them wasn’t natural - the hesitation, the softened edges, the way they moved as if afraid to brush against old wounds. Even while he’d been bedridden, the truth had shown itself to him, stark and undeniable. Like a bloodstain marking a pristine white blouse.

Something was wrong.

He heard it in the jokes that fell flat before they even reached the air. He sensed it in the way Sonic’s scent no longer clung to Knuckles the way his once lingered on Maria’s clothes after standing beside her. He tasted it in the blandness of a meal shared in a silence too hollow to offer comfort. And he saw it in the way he’d come to understand this almost-normal family - the quiet gravity with which they held one another, not in any toxic or desperate way, but in something gentler, steadier. He recognised the bandage over the deeper wound from a distance, observing it all in the silence he’d mastered long ago.

The bruise between them had sunk deep, corroding through muscle and spirit alike - its broken vessels mending weakly as the purple faded to a sickly yellow, never healing, only lingering. Muddied. Persistent. Unforgotten.

It irritated Shadow. 

He wasn’t angry - not exactly - but the inefficiency of it, the quiet refusal to bridge the gap, the clouded stubbornness, the pride thick enough to choke on - that was what grated at him. The needless stalling. The slow, preventable ache. The way they both seemed determined to limp on it rather than fix it.

But what bothered him most was that they clearly cared about each other, yet did nothing with it. To him, it looked like slow, deliberate self-sabotage - a pressure building with nowhere to go, waiting for the inevitable break.

He didn’t know why their bond had splintered, why even glancing toward the problem seemed to scorch them both. But he knew the fracture traced back to the Master Emerald - and to the chaos energy gnawing at Sonic from the inside out.

He hadn’t been around yet at that time to know. 

He didn’t know the full story - didn’t know the why or the how of the Master Emerald’s shattering. Didn’t know the exact shape of Sonic’s fragment lodged inside him, burning quietly like a misplaced star.

And he didn’t care. 

Not about the details. The details were nothing but debris.

What he cared about was the cold that the two of them carried like weather, the bitterness that curdled Sonic’s normally vibrant energy whenever Knuckles brushed him off without realizing. And, what he did understand was that their loyalty had twisted out of shape, warped like a weapon left too long to gather dust.

He hated it. But worse - he was affected by it.

He enjoyed the rhythm of this strange little home more than he’d ever admit. Enjoyed the patterns he’d begun to learn. The warmth he pretended not to seek. He didn’t have a name for it - not anything beyond tolerance, at least.

But he knew this much: somewhere along the way, on some small and stubbornly reluctant level, he’d grown accustomed to this strange little family - and more than that… he wanted the rift between them closed.

A love poisoned by the fear of losing it. Anger lacquered over with guilt. Silence weaponised to hide the things they truly wanted to say. He saw all of it written across their faces, and somewhere in the depths of their mess, he saw pieces of himself. He knew the pattern intimately.

Which was why, when Tails slipped back into his work and Sonic resumed pestering his younger brother with yet another string of questions, Shadow made a decision. After hours spent replaying the moment Knuckles nearly wore himself out checking whether Sonic was still breathing - hours he’d be embarrassed to admit - it felt unavoidable. Today, he would confront the eldest about the unspoken thing between them. The argument he hadn’t witnessed, but felt the shape of all the same.

Passing through the kitchen with a brief nod to Tom and Maddie, Shadow slipped out the back door into the garden that opened toward the forest. There, at the base of the fence, he found the echidna pretending to busy himself. One fist pressed against a splintered post, jaw locked, shoulders wound so tight they trembled. He’d been “fixing” that same section for days now - more performance than repair.

Shadow didn’t bother clearing his throat. He just stepped into Knuckles’ shadow and waited.

Knuckles’ ear twitched. “You need something?” he asked, voice low, trying and failing to focus on his construction.

“Your time,” Shadow said flatly. Then, after a beat: “And whatever excuse you’re about to give.”

The words stilled Knuckles mid-breath. Confusion flickered across his face - thin, trembling, spreading like a stress fracture through granite. His dreadlocks shifted as his grip loosened by a hair’s breadth; not enough to be called release, only enough to reveal the tremor beneath. The chaos energy coiled in his fist sputtered, dimming like a flame smothered by a passing gust.

The tremor was small - but it told Shadow more than weeks of half-truths. Pride is a brittle shield.

Shadow noticed instantly. He always did. His senses read disturbances the way others read expressions - quiet ripples in a current he could not ignore. He’d know, he’s wielded it himself. 

“What excuse?” Knuckles’ brows crashed together, his tone sharpening into that instinctive defensive rasp - like someone who had lived too long expecting the strike before the question, the judgement before the explanation. “I’m not-”

Shadow didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. His stillness was its own kind of pressure - unblinking, unsoftened, more honest than accusation.

Knuckles, stubborn to the bone, still refused to look at him.

“The one you’re about to give,” Shadow cut in, voice steady, unyielding. “To avoid speaking to Sonic about whatever cracked the bond between you.”

Knuckles stiffened as though struck. His quills edged sharper, bristling with the reflex of a wound touched.
“We’re not broken,” he snapped - too quick, too splintered. “We’re - fine. Functioning.”

His gaze dropped to the soil at his feet. The garden he tended without fail, now dulled, fading around the edges. As if even the earth felt the imbalance humming between the brothers bound to it.

Shadow let silence gather, thick as fog, before tilting his head - unimpressed, unswayed.

“Functioning,” he echoed, “the way a cracked pillar functions. Upright. Present. And one tremor away from collapse.” he almost scoffed. 

Shadow could almost see it - the fracture line glowing faintly, vibrating with every unspoken word.

One more hit, and it will fall.

Knuckles’ jaw flexed, the muscle ticking like a spark about to leap. His fists curled once more, but the blow didn’t come. There was no anger behind it - just the raw edge of someone hiding behind denial because the truth cut too deep.

“You’ve only ever seen the surface of what happened,” Knuckles said, the words grinding out of him like stone dragged across stone. His voice wasn’t angry - anger would’ve been easier, cleaner. This was something older, heavier, worn smooth by the number of times he’d tried to swallow it.

He turned his head toward the treeline, eyes slipping to the forest with the instinct of someone who’s spent his entire life confiding in things that can’t answer back. The quiet, the shadows, the earth - they understood him far better than anyone else ever had.

“You think you have the picture,” he muttered, jaw tightening, “but you don’t. You’ve seen the aftermath….” A humorless breath escaped him - something like a laugh, but sharp, hollow, and exhausted. “But you didn’t see the moment it cracked.”

The branches murmured above them, leaves trembling as the wind filtered through - soft, almost sympathetic. It pulled gently at his dreadlocked quills, as if trying to coax truth from someone who’d rather let it fossilize inside his chest.

“There’s more to it than a broken relic and harsh words,” he said, fingers curling subtly, his knuckles whitening - fittingly, painfully. “I’m the Guardian. The Master Emerald is… everything. My life. My duty. My entire damn purpose. And I failed it. That’s not something I can just explain.”

His throat bobbed, a small, rare betrayal of the emotion he kept chained deep. “You didn’t see how it felt - watching it fracture under my watch. Watching him be the reason.”

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, jaw shifting like he was chewing on memory.  “Do you know what it does to someone like me,” he whispered, “when the one person you’d trust with your life… becomes the reason the thing you swore to protect shatters?”

The words thinned. Weakened.  “It wasn’t just the emerald that broke.”

He exhaled slowly, unevenly - the kind of breath that seems to collapse a person from the inside. "You've seen the surface,” Knuckles repeated, quieter, almost defeated. “But you have no idea what’s underneath. What it cost. What I said. What I can’t take back.”

He didn’t look at Shadow. Couldn’t.

 Some truths were easier to spill into the trees - they didn’t judge, didn’t prod, didn’t see the Guardian as a man cracking under the weight of his own expectations.

“No,” Shadow said, swift and unconcerned. “I don’t. And your details are irrelevant to me.”

The wind pressed through the leaves with a thin, waiting breath.

“Then why are you getting in the middle of it?” Knuckles finally turned, shoulders locked tight, posture rigid as ancient stone. As though the very conversation froze him in place.

“Don’t deflect.” Shadow moved closer, voice cooling further. “This house is suffocating because the two of you refuse to address what happened.”

“Were you even paying attention?” Knuckles scowled, his fists tightening. “He reached into the heart of the emerald and pulled a piece free. Just like that. And I had to stand there and watch the light go out of something I’ve known my whole life.” his voice roughened. 

Shadow didn’t blink. “And?”

“And?!” Knuckles’ voice cracked, anger flaring raw. “I trusted him with it. He gave his word-”

“He absorbed a fragment by accident.” Shadow hissed, unflinching, unmoved, each syllable delivered with sharpness. 

Knuckles surged forward, voice erupting. “That doesn’t change a damn thing!” His fists slammed into the wooden post beside him; it shuddered down to its roots. “And then he had the nerve - the nerve - to brush it off. To act like the emerald losing control was just… another Tuesday. Like it wasn’t catastrophic. Like it wasn’t ours to bear.” His teeth ground together. “He didn’t even try to own what he’d done.”

Shadow felt the air tighten - chaos energy rising, restless, unsettled, brushing against him like static before a storm.

Knuckles’ breath ragged. “So tell me - why the hell are you telling me to apologize when he’s the one who broke it?”

Shadow’s answer fell like a steady drop of water finding the weakest point in stone. “Because I know what a fractured bond feels like,” he murmured - no judgment, no heat, only truth. “I know how it weighs on you. How unspoken things rot from the inside out.”

A breath snagged in Knuckles’ chest - small, involuntary, but impossible to miss.

“And I saw you,” Shadow continued, his voice narrowing into something low, exacting - each word placed with surgical intent. “The other day. When Sonic went still. The way your whole body locked. The way you nearly uprooted half the forest trying to make sure he was still breathing.”

A flicker - small as the twitch of a leaf in no wind - crossed Knuckles’ face. But Shadow caught it.

“You call that nothing?”

Knuckles’ throat worked around a tight swallow, tendons pulling taut beneath his fur. Beneath his palm, the already-splintered post protested, groaning under the pressure of memories he still refused to put into air.

Shadow stepped closer - not looming, not aggressive, just there. The kind of presence that felt like dusk settling in around an open wound, quiet and cool but impossible to ignore. Even the shadows clinging to him seemed to lean forward, listening.

“You can sprint to him when death so much as grazes his neck,” Shadow said, softer now, but with a clarity that cut deeper than anger ever could. “But you can’t take three steps toward him now?”

Knuckles exhaled, a sound dragged up from somewhere raw. “That’s different,” he rasped. “That was instinct. Duty. What I’m made for. What I swore. This - ” His jaw clenched. “This isn’t - ”

“Fear,” Shadow said simply.

Knuckles’ head snapped up, glare sharp enough to draw blood.

But Shadow did not so much as blink. “Fear of reopening the wound. Fear of the truth. Fear of losing him. Fear of being forgiven.”

The forest seemed to still around them - as if every branch, every blade of grass, every breath of wind paused mid-motion. The hush wasn’t silence; it was a held note, suspended, waiting to see which truth Knuckles would deflect… and which one would finally split the stonework of his composure.

Knuckles swallowed. The sound was rough, uneven - like granite dragged along rusted metal.

“Even iron fears the rot,” he managed. The words were meant to land with weight, but they came out thin, fragile… parchment left too long beneath a merciless sun.

His hands tightened at his sides. The cords of muscle in his arms pulled taut, trembling with restraint more than strength.

“I’m supposed to be the strong one,” he muttered, voice dropping. “The unshakeable one. Guardian of the Master Emerald - protector of my tribe, my home…” His breath hitched, barely audible. “My family.”

He exhaled, the sound heavy, cracked at the edges. “But this - this distance between me and Sonic?” A whisper now, raw and scraped thin. “It scares me more than any fight I’ve ever walked into.”

Shadow’s reply was cool, steady - precision carved into sound. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?”

Knuckles bristled instantly, quills tightening like the flare of a threatened animal. He was a fluctuation of emotions. “I’m not avoiding anybody.”

“You won’t even look at him when he speaks,” Shadow said, voice slicing through denial with quiet exactness. “You choke on his name. Call it what it is.”

A tic jumped in Knuckles’ jaw, the tension vibrating along the line of it. His breath slipped out in something ragged, unwilling, truth-drenched.

“I’m… angry.”

“At him?” Shadow asked quietly. 

“At everything,” Knuckles snapped, the words bursting out like an overloaded fault line giving way. “At what happened. At myself. At him. At the damn Emerald. Take your pick.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed slightly; not judgment, but calculation. “Anger doesn’t hollow someone out like that.”

Knuckles’ breath hitched again. Just once.

“You didn’t see him,” he said, voice low and frayed. “When it shattered. When he went down -  I thought- ” His hands closed over nothing, trembling. “I thought I lost him.” 

For a fleeting heartbeat, Maria’s face flickered through Sonic’s silhouette - soft, desperate, fading. A pressure bloomed beneath Shadow’s ribs, sharp as memory.

“But you didn’t,” Shadow said, tone low but unwavering. “You’re punishing him for an accident. And punishing yourself for caring.”

Knuckles flinched - an instinctive recoil, like the truth had grazed a nerve he’d kept buried. He couldn’t seem to stop the reflex with every word that hit him like a dagger. 

“Not physically, no…” His gaze fell to the earth, unfocused, drawn inward by memory’s gravity. “But he changes. He slips away. Laughs things off. Hides behind jokes.” A shallow inhale, brittle as a snapped wire. “And I pretend I don’t see it. Pretend I don’t hear the parts he’s not saying.”

His voice cracked - just slightly. “And every day, a little piece of… something breaks off between us.”

Shadow moved a fraction closer - not crowding, not imposing; simply there. A quiet anchor in the drifting space between them.

“Then stop pretending it isn’t happening.”

Knuckles lifted his head. His eyes - usually blazing with certainty - were heavy, shadowed with a fatigue he’d hidden even from himself.

Shadow’s words landed with surgical precision.

“You call yourself the Guardian of the Master Emerald.” A pause - dark, still, inevitable. “Yet you can’t even protect one bond.”

A long silence unfurled between them, stretching thin and taut - two warriors standing chest-deep in a rising sea, each tide of thought pulling them further inward. Knuckles wrestled for another excuse, another shield to raise…

But there was nothing.

Nothing left to hide behind.

Shadow’s voice cut through the quiet. “Tell me, Knuckles - what good is guarding a relic if you let your family fall apart around it?”

Silence again.

Heavy. Crippling.

And all Knuckles could hear - echoing sharper than any accusation - were the quiet, stinging words of that blue-eyed kit: you’re being a bad big brother.

He exhaled shakily. His voice, when it finally surfaced, was smaller than he intended - like something worn thin. “…He didn’t look scared.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Shadow’s expression shifted - barely, a subtle softening at the edges. “He didn’t want you to see it. But he is...and for a good reason."

Knuckles swallowed, the motion tight and uneven. “I said things I shouldn’t have. I made it worse for him - for them.” He shifted his stance, uneasy - like a warrior who suddenly didn’t know where to aim his spear. 

“Then tell him.”

“It’s not that simple.” He scrunched his eyes shut. 

“It is,” Shadow replied, the quiet certainty of someone who had learned the hard way. “You speak. He listens. Or you stay silent - ” A beat, cool and merciless. “ - and the fracture grows.”

Knuckles’ breath trembled. The anger had drained from him entirely, leaving only the raw exhaustion beneath it - the guilt he had tried to out-muscle, out-run, out-justify.

“What if he doesn’t want to hear it?” he muttered.

Shadow held his gaze - so long and so steadily that the air itself seemed to tighten, thinning into something cold and expectant.

“He will,” Shadow said at last, each word deliberate, certain. “Because the moment you actually look at him… you’ll understand neither of you ever stopped caring.”

Something flickered in the space between them - an invisible resonance, faint but undeniable. A static hum along Shadow’s bones, an echo threaded through the bond those two managed to hold even in their most fractured state. A tether frayed, but not severed.

Knuckles’ eyes jerked upward, startled by the surety in Shadow’s voice. By the way Shadow spoke as though he knew - not guessed, not hoped - knew.

And he did.

He didn’t want to unearth the reason he’d stepped in, didn’t want to name the impulse that drove him headfirst into a wound that wasn’t his to mend. But the cold seam trembling between Knuckles and Sonic tugged at something buried deep in him - something he feared would one day mirror him and Maria. His shoulder throbbed with the memory: red alarms flashing like open wounds, her tears slipping down her cheeks, and the gold of her hair sinking beneath that sickly green flood. A memory too heavy to bear, and yet impossible to set down.

He… couldn’t stop seeing it.

Her.

Bleeding through the edges of everything.

In the way Sonic laughed - light, reckless, like a spark trying to outrun the dark. In the way Knuckles guarded Sonic even now as he had during this accident, even wounded and furious, with the same fierce devotion Shadow once swore to her. In the fragile tension between them, stretched thin like the moment before a heart breaks.

And in the silence - the dangerous, widening silence - Shadow felt the old fear coil tight in his chest. The fear of a quiet that kills. Of a rift left to fester until it becomes a grave.

He knew that cost too well.

The cost of words swallowed instead of spoken. Of truths buried until they calcify into regret. Of a family torn apart before love can take its full shape - before it can be voiced, before it can reach the one who needed to hear it.

Before he could say I love you-  before the moment is gone. 

Images of the Ark flooded him.

Shadow drew a steady breath and stepped back, folding his arms; the shift was small, but final. The conversation closed with the same precision it opened.

“Fix it, Knuckles,” he said softly, but with an edge that brooked no argument. “Not for the emerald. For him. And for yourself. Before the rot spreads further. Before you lose him in a way you can never undo.”

The words lingered, settling like dust across the clearing.

A long silence followed - dense, trembling, woven from fear, memory, and the first threads of reluctant resolve.

“…Yeah,” Knuckles breathed, barely more than a rasp. “I know.”

Shadow said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

He turned, boots crunching over gravel, the sound harsh in the quiet. He disappeared down the path toward the house, leaving the half-repaired post and the echidna behind.

And yet Knuckles stood there - fists loose, chest tight - staring at the place where Shadow had stood, at the fissure in the wood, at the small ache blooming warm and painful beneath his sternum.

Because for the first time in weeks, he let himself feel it.

And for the first time - he understood what he had to do.

He followed him inside when the wind got too cold.

Chapter Text

“We have to tell him.”

The words drifted between them like a sentence missing its period - an ending left to bleed out. A thin, ever-stretching emptiness that swallowed the air. And in that far-off dark, beyond sight and touch, Sonic felt the space yawn wider, cooling into an abyss where resignation gathered like storm clouds, heavy with guilt.

“We can’t keep it from him any longer, buddy.”

The words hung in the dimness, gentle in sound but heavy in their fall, sagging under the days of strain packed inside them. Sonic’s thumbs twisted together in tight, jittering motions, like his hands were reaching for something solid to hold before the truth escaped his grip. His gaze clung to the red of his shoes - the once-bold colour looking strangely remote, like it belonged to a version of him who didn’t falter.

“It wouldn’t be right.” His ears folded back, sinking in quiet sympathy with Tails' own, a shared heaviness that settled between them like dust.

Tails’ knuckles shone bone-white around the almost-finished chaos conductor. And in the thin quiet, punctured only by the device’s shy, metallic groan, Sonic felt the stress in his brother - how it seeped from his head, streamed down the rigid line of his shoulders, and pooled in his chest like a cold, reluctant tide he couldn’t shake.

“We still have time. Yes, the Ark files are almost completely cracked, but I can… I can come up with an alternative -” The tool struck the bench before he realized he’d dropped it, a bright metallic cry cutting through the room.

The echo shivered up his spine, setting all three tails twitching in a startled ripple.

He turned partway toward Sonic, shoulders tight, voice small - a breath trying to sound brave, but carrying the echo of a boy pushing back against the rising tide of doubt. “We don’t need to resort to the-”

He went quiet. A breath’s length, nothing more.

Then acceptance drifted into his eyes, turning like a slow wheel as he lifted them to Sonic. The fox’s soft, glass-blue gaze met the forest hues in Sonic’s - moss and green and something older, gentler - the two colours bleeding together into a muted, lakewater haze.

“Okay.” Tails breathed the word rather than spoke it, the syllable drifting out into the dimness of their room like a feather tossed on a draft. When his eyes touched Sonic’s - quick, bright, startled - they darted away just as fast. The movement was small, but it tugged at the lamplight, scattering it across his lenses in a brief, trembling flicker.

He sat turned toward the mess of blueprints and half-finished gadgets in his corner, but his tails betrayed him: the way they drew in, then loosened, then curled again, as though trying to settle around a feeling that refused to be still.

“We’ll tell him,” he said, quieter the second time.

Sonic managed a crooked, almost-shy smile, the kind he used when he didn’t have the energy for the real thing. He mouthed a silent thank you, a word shaped more in breath than sound.

“Maybe if I’m the one to break it to him, he’ll choke it down easier,” he joked - too quick, too sharp, a flimsy shield thrown up out of habit. His hands always reached for humour the way they always did when things dipped too close to real. 

And the moment it left him, both brothers felt the scrape of it.

Tails’ ears twitched back. His shoulders stiffened, then rounded as if the joke had hit somewhere tender he didn’t want seen. The glow of his work-lamp cast a warm halo behind him, but the light didn’t soften his expression; it only made the flicker of hurt more visible before he tucked it away.

Sonic felt the sting of his own words too late. It flashed through him - a little jolt beneath the ribs - leaving his smile limp and useless. He stared at the floorboards, then at Tails, then at the gap between them, as if searching for something he could toss across it to make things easy again.

But nothing came.

Tails turned back toward his corner, pretending to adjust something on the desk though his hands hovered more than they moved. Sonic watched the small tremor in his fingers, the silent worry that lived in the slope of his back, and felt the urge to apologize curl in his throat… but stay there, unspoken.

In the hush that followed, their bedroom felt too small to hold everything unsaid - and too familiar to hide any of it.

“He’ll understand, Tails.” Sonic nodded once - firm, almost brisk - as if the simple motion could hammer truth into the words he’d just spoken. “He’ll… he’ll be mad. Crazy mad,” he admitted with a quick exhale, the kind that tugged at the corners of his voice. “But he’ll understand.”

The reassurance drifted toward Tails, shaped to soothe the guilt gnawing at him like something with teeth. But as the words left Sonic, they curled back toward his own chest - quiet, needy, selfish in that fragile way he hoped no one would notice.

Because the truth was simple and sharp:

He wasn’t only trying to steady his brother- he was trying to brace the part of himself still haunted by the echo of Knuckles’ anger.

Trying to believe that forgiveness was something Knuckles still had in him to offer.

Because if this…if this mistake piled on top of all the others- if this was the thing that forced the widening crack into a sealed, final break-

 then Sonic wasn’t sure the door between them would ever open again.

“I hope so…” Tails muttered back. 

Sonic had been close-minded. Immature. Selfish. Reckless in all the quiet, thoughtless ways that cut deepest. Hasty, uncareful - an entire list of flaws he’d outrun for years without ever really looking at them.

He just couldn’t believe how easily he’d ignored all those words that fit him too well… not until Shadow began appearing in the corners of his days, steady as gravity, a presence impossible to dodge. Only then did those truths start sinking in - slowly, heavily - like they’d been waiting for someone unflinching enough to make him see them.

Shadow didn’t have to do anything.

He didn’t have to speak, didn’t have to pry, didn’t have to offer judgment or mercy. His mere presence was enough - quiet, unyielding - to steep Sonic in a slow-creeping shame.

An unmoving figure of midnight fur and burning red stripes, a spirit carved from discipline and grief. And those cold ruby eyes - steady, unblinking - held firm every time Sonic tried, foolishly, to patch things up with Knuckles in some half-formed, improper way.

Shadow didn’t call him out.

He didn’t need to.

Sonic could feel the truth of his own missteps just by standing near him.

And he felt it most sharply one quiet movie night, when Tom dragged out the old fabric box of DVDs and nudged it toward him - an invitation to sift through the worn cases and choose from the scattered little worlds inside.

“It was Knuckles’ turn to pick last weekend, so I think the honor falls to you tonight.” Tom’s smile stretched wide and easy as he nudged the box closer, inviting Sonic to dive in and thumb through the familiar collection he’d grown to cherish - each title for its own strange, shining reason.

Treasure Planet. Atlantis. Beauty and the Beast.

The plastic covers clicked and chimed softly against one another as Sonic sifted through them, pulling a few free only to uncover more beneath - Stories stacked in faded cases, each waiting for him to choose the one he wanted to fall into.

“You better not pick what I think you’re gonna pick,” Tails murmured from the far end of the couch, half-buried in the corner as if the cushions themselves were holding him up. His cheek was pressed into the armrest, puffing it slightly, and his eyes squinted against the soft glow of the room, weary but alert.

He stared ahead in that absent, drifting way he always did when exhaustion tugged at him - on the edge of sleep, yet willing to pause his endless tinkering for a few hours to be here with them.

“I’m tired of watching How to Train Your Dragon. Every. Single. Time,” he added, voice tinged with mock exasperation, but warm underneath.

“We haven’t watched it in ages!” Sonic exclaimed, spinning on his heel so fast the blanket on the couch fluttered behind him. His quills bristled with exaggerated indignation, and a wide, playful grin spread across his face. “The entire production is amazing! You can’t just get bored of that!”

He leaned forward, hands planted on the edge of the coffee table like he was daring Tails to challenge him, eyes bright and sparkling with a mix of mischief and insistence. Even in his exaggeration, there was a hint of genuine excitement - the way he always lit up over things he loved.

“We watched it three weeks ago - when it was your turn. And then three weeks before that, when it was your turn again,” Tails said, voice even but edged with weary amusement, his tails flicking in small, impatient arcs behind him.

Sonic froze mid-lean, eyes widening as if Tails had just called down a meteor. Then he flopped backward onto the couch, spreading out like he owned the cushions, quills brushing against the soft fabric.

“Okay, okay, fine!” he admitted with a dramatic sigh, throwing his hands in the air. “Maybe… maybe I’ve got a problem. But c’mon! It’s that good!”

He turned on his side to face Tails, resting his head on one elbow, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You’re just jealous of how epic Hiccup is. Admit it.”

Tails huffed softly, shaking his head, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement. Sonic’s grin only widened in response, triumphant and unrepentant, as though the battle had already been won.

“To tell the truth… he’s a cool inventor,” Tails conceded, chest puffing slightly with pride and stubbornness all at once. “But! My answer is still no. Pick something else.”

Sonic whined, a drawn-out, theatrical sound that made Tails’ ears twitch in mock annoyance. He stomped one foot, then flopped back onto the couch with a dramatic groan, quills ruffling in exaggerated defeat.

But in the end, he relented. His brother had been working nonstop, pushing himself harder than Sonic could keep up with - and for once, leniency felt easier than protest. He let the grin creep back onto his face, just a little, as he leaned back and accepted the compromise.

That was, at least, until Shadow appeared at the top of the stairs, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light. He lingered for just a heartbeat, a dark silhouette etched with streaks of red, his gaze flicking toward the living room with quiet, calculating curiosity, before his steps carried him onward toward the kitchen.

But Sonic had already seen him. Every careful movement, every measured step, registered in his mind with unnerving clarity. And in that fleeting moment, Shadow made the subtle mistake of reminding the blue blur of his existence.

“Hey - Shadow,” Sonic called, falling into step behind him, the DVD case - dragons and vikings emblazoned across its cover - clutched tightly in his gloved hand. His voice was light, teasing, but carried a genuine thread of invitation. “Wanna join us? I’ll even let you pick the movie this time.”

He hesitated just a fraction, watching for the faintest flicker of interest in those unyielding crimson eyes, hoping the offer might reach him.

“I’ll pass,” Shadow replied, flat and steady, his voice as monotone as the shadow of his expression.

“Oh, c’mon!” Sonic countered immediately, grinning wide, undeterred by the dismissal. “I bet you haven’t even seen half of these.” He angled the case toward him, colors glinting under the soft living-room light. “It’ll be fun. And if you hate it… hey, you’re more than welcome to bail halfway through.”

Sonic’s quills bristled slightly with hopeful energy, his tone light and coaxing, carrying a persistence that came from somewhere deeper than simple playfulness - a stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, Shadow would say yes.

They turned into the kitchen then.

“I’m busy solving the equation of the segmented prism of disorder,” Shadow announced, producing a Rubik’s Cube from seemingly nowhere, holding it as if it were a sacred relic. The colors caught the warm overhead light like trapped fire, and his fingers moved with precise, almost surgical motions, twisting the cube with an intensity that made Sonic freeze mid-step.

Confusion flooded him. Was he… describing a Rubik’s Cube like a weapon? Or some alien artifact? And where had that even come from? Sonic chuckled nervously, running a hand through his quills as the absurdity of it settled over him like a soft, strange fog.

“That can wait,” Sonic said, forcing his voice to be casual. “It’ll be right where you left it.”

Shadow didn’t look up. His crimson eyes were fixed, calculating; every twist of the cube was deliberate. “Time is irrelevant to mastery,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sonic, his low, precise voice lending the cube an almost unbearable gravity.

Sonic leaned against the counter, tilting his head, watching the subtle bristle of Shadow’s quills and the taut precision in his arms with every turn. “You know,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, careful not to shatter the strange seriousness, “most people just call it a Rubik’s Cube.”

Shadow’s eyes flicked toward him for a fraction of a second - sharp, unreadable. “Names are irrelevant,” he replied, twisting another face. “The challenge is absolute.”

The soft clicks of plastic against plastic filled the kitchen like a steady metronome, punctuated by Sonic’s quiet, half-amused sigh. He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah… that’s Shadow alright,” he muttered.

He watched the black hedgehog hunched over the cube, crimson streaks gleaming through the depths of his fur, quills vibrating ever so slightly with concentration. There was an almost reverent care in the way Shadow worked, as if the cube contained secrets worth guarding.

And somewhere between the rhythm of the twisting layers and Shadow’s quiet murmurs, Sonic felt the faintest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could coax that same intensity into joining them for a movie - maybe even a little fun.

Shadow’s fingers moved over the cube with meticulous precision, crimson eyes narrowing in unwavering focus, quills bristling with an almost imperceptible tension. “If I can align every facet… if I can impose perfect order upon this segmented prism of disorder,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, “then perhaps its concealed truths will finally deign to reveal themselves.”

Sonic’s eyes widened, a mix of incredulity and bemusement spreading across his face. “Concealed truths? Shadow… it’s a toy. It doesn’t do anything,” he said, stepping closer, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.

Shadow’s gaze flicked toward him again, incisive and unyielding. “Do not trivialize the segmented prism of disorder,” he intoned, each word deliberate, almost ceremonial. “It contains knowledge. It tests perception. It-”

Sonic held up a gloved hand, chuckling softly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s basically an alien safe, then. Full of cosmic secrets, just waiting for your genius fingers to crack it open.”

Shadow ignored the quip entirely, rotating the cube with deliberate, ritualistic care, as though coaxing the very universe to yield its enigmas. “The alignment… the harmony of colors… I can sense it. Should I succeed, the path… the answers… shall be laid bare before me,” he whispered, his tone threaded with an almost mystical solemnity.

Sonic leaned casually against the counter, quills lightly ruffling, one foot tapping in rhythmic impatience. “Answers, huh? Right. Well, if it starts glowing and firing lasers, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

For the briefest moment, Shadow’s lips twitched - not a smile, but a subtle acknowledgment, as though he had registered the levity but refused to capitulate to it. Then he returned to the cube, every twist a testament to his unwavering determination.

Sonic exhaled quietly, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “Man,” he muttered under his breath, “you’d probably spend three days trying to decipher a toaster if you thought it had ‘secrets.’”

The soft, precise clicks of plastic against plastic filled the kitchen, a metronomic cadence that seemed to punctuate both concentration and absurdity. And in that suspended domesticity - between the fastidious, brooding hedgehog and the irrepressibly lighthearted blur - an unexpected tranquility settled.

Sonic’s chest warmed with quiet realization. Even Shadow - unyielding, formidable Shadow - could be drawn into these rare, delicate moments of mundanity. Moments untethered from chaos, conflict, or duty, yet imbued with their own subtle significance.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the enigmatic “alien safe” might, in some way, be the intensity he thought might persuade Shadow to sit and watch the TV with them.

Sonic shifted on the edge of the counter, elbows pressing into the smooth surface as he angled his hip back, letting his weight swing lazily from heel to toe. The quiet hum of the refrigerator mingled with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath him, a domestic rhythm that mirrored the casual energy spiraling in his mind. He tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and let his voice circle the invitation with a mixture of mischief and coaxing warmth. “You know… you could just join us for a bit,” he said, soft but insistent, the words laced with that reckless optimism only Sonic could muster. “I promise the Rubik’s Cube won’t unravel while you’re gone.”

Shadow’s crimson eyes never left the cube. Fingers moved with meticulous intent, twisting and snapping the colored faces with a precision that made each click punctuate the air like a deliberate heartbeat. “The pursuit cannot be interrupted,” he said, voice flat, measured, ritualistic even. “Even a fleeting diversion risks catastrophe.”

Sonic leaned slightly forward, eyes sparkling with playful persistence, quills rustling against his shoulders as he nudged closer. “Then how about you bring it with you?” he suggested, voice light, eyebrows wiggling with a teasing insistence. “It could have a nice, cozy spot on the coffee table.”

“Not possible,” Shadow replied instantly, finality in his tone, the cube’s colors spinning like a private cosmos in his grasp.

But Sonic - relentless, impossible to deter - just smirked, flicking stray quills from his shoulders with exaggerated care. He really needed to preen them soon. “Catastrophe, huh? Is that so?”

He leaned into the exaggeration, letting the words roll over him like water. “Well… it can’t be helped then. Only that the monsters and aliens might be taking over the country if you don’t keep an eye. Could lead to some intergalactic consequences, but hey, no biggie. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”

Shadow paused mid-twist, the cube suspended in his hands, colors spinning like fragments of some forbidden logic. His gaze flicked toward Sonic, sharp and assessing, a faint crease forming between his brows, almost imperceptible but deliberate. “Things don’t leap out of the television, Sonic. I’m not foolish.”

Sonic groaned, rolling his eyes, flopping slightly back against the counter as the cube - his “segmented prism of disorder” - was set down with care on the marble surface. He let out a soft huff of exasperation before leaning forward again, voice now tinged with desperate charm. “Shadow… please! Just sit with us, for not even twenty minutes. Trust me - you’ll love it. The idea of solving… that’ll fly right out the window the moment you hear the president belt out Alex F to the robot alien!”

He had seen it before, just the tiniest twitch of interest forming in the faint crease between Shadow’s brows when the title hit him: Monsters vs. Aliens. Sonic’s grin widened, triumphant but cautious, like a treasure hunter glimpsing a hidden gem without disturbing its delicate surroundings.

Shadow’s hands hovered over the cube, still tense, still measured. And yet, for a fraction of a second, the rigid lines of his posture softened, a shadow of curiosity stirring beneath the stoic exterior - a silent acknowledgment that maybe, Sonic’s chaos could be contagious in the most harmless way.

The ebony hedgehog exhaled with a low, resonant sigh, the vibration rolling through his chest and shaking the very tips of his quills. Warmth escaped in a quiet puff from his nostrils, a subtle signal of irritation tempered by something softer beneath it. He didn’t seem pleased to be interrupted, yet there was no trace of anger - only that taut, imperious patience that made him simultaneously formidable and unknowable.

Sonic, of course, pressed onward. Words spilled from him like a ribbon of reckless energy, gestures curling and twisting through the air, thick with charm and insistent warmth. Tonight, he offered no restraint, no careful bows to Shadow’s brooding presence. He nudged, teased, coaxed - pouring life into the still air, attempting to draw Shadow into something rarer than obedience: a moment of release.

Shadow had, naturally, grown accustomed to motion. Assisting Tails with the delicate precision of a surgeon, observing the humans with an inscrutable curiosity, leaning over Sonic’s shoulder as he played, tilting his head, studying patterns in the chaos of the screen. He never paused. He never stepped aside. He had not yet learned the luxury of surrender.

Sonic remembered, vividly, the small fractures in Shadow’s armor - fleeting glimpses of something human, almost startling in their candor:

“How are they so small? I thought humans were bigger than Mobians,” Shadow had asked, clipped and curious, quills bristling, head tilted like a sentinel pondering a riddle.

“It’s a game, Shads. It’s not real,” Sonic had replied, grin wide, fingers dancing over the controller.

It lingered in Sonic’s mind, a gentle echo: how far Shadow had traveled, how the wedge in his walls had begun to splinter. Now, he asked. He did not merely observe; he participated. He no longer braced for judgment, no longer crouched like a predator waiting for a strike. Sonic could not say when it had begun, only that the shift had occurred - and Shadow had not yet noticed it himself.

Those questions - earnest, unguarded, simple as sunlight on water - had remained in Sonic’s memory, flickering beneath the hedge of Shadow’s relentless composure. And now, watching the same subtle tension ripple through his shoulders, Sonic realized he sought more than mere participation in a movie. He sought a bridge across the quiet gulf, a fragile connection that Shadow rarely, if ever, allowed to bloom.

Sonic rambled. “Tonights feature is perfectly suited to you! I mean, come on, Shadow - giant monsters, alien invaders, chaos everywhere… sounds like your kind of thing, right?” 

Shadow exhaled, slow and deliberate, each breath measured like the marking of time itself. As he at last, rotated the cube one final time. Sonic’s jaw almost dislocated; he hadn’t even been paying attention, lost in the quiet drama of Shadow’s concentration. Then - the satisfying snap of plastic locking into perfect alignment echoed through the room, crisp and final, like a miniature explosion of triumph.

“You were right. There were no secrets in it.” And without another word, Shadow walked away, cube cradled in his hands as if it were a sacred prize even still. He glided toward the couch, a dark sentinel joining the living room gathering.

Sonic snapped out of his daze at the gruff, slightly slurred call of Tails from the other room. He shook his head, grounding himself, and sprang forward with a silent laugh of triumph pressing against his lips, bounding after the others like wind unleashed.

But as he stepped back into the heart of the room, his motion faltered. He came face-to-face with the fourth addition to their little domestic tableau - one he had almost forgotten in his excitement.

Knuckles.

The red echidna stood there, arms crossed, a slow, judging tilt to his head, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Sonic froze mid-step, realizing that even amidst Rubik’s cubes and intergalactic animated chaos, the real challenge was just beginning.

“I forgot -” Shadow halted mid-step, quills fanning slightly as he pivoted, voice low and controlled. “I meant to grab water.”

Shadow passed by Sonic with that same effortless, controlled grace, leaving the space beside Knuckles - Sonic’s usual perch - empty, silent, almost accusatory in its stillness. Sonic’s gaze lingered, a knot of longing and unease tightening in his chest. That seat had always been his, a cradle of habit and comfort, yet after the fallout with Knuckles, it felt… off-limits, charged with unspoken tension.

He shifted on his feet, glancing from the vacant spot to Shadow’s calm stride toward the kitchen. Claiming it now would feel awkward, maybe even disrespectful - but the pull was undeniable. That familiar cushion, that habitual corner of the couch, beckoned him like a siren, tugging against the weight of pride and guilt that anchored him in place.

His fingers twitched, itching to settle into the seat, to make himself at home as he always had—but hesitation held him fast, a quiet tether to the argument he wasn’t ready to confront.

Then, mercifully, the decision was made for him.

“Come sit,” Tails called, tilting his head with a small, knowing gesture while sliding the correct DVD into the player. Sonic’s ears perked -Tails must have overheard his earlier exchange with Shadow. The gentle nudge was enough; Sonic let out a soft, reluctant sigh and eased himself toward the couch, the empty space beside Knuckles still humming with the weight of what had passed.

He let himself flop onto the couch, half-graceful, half-chaotic, the cushion sighing under his weight and springing him just slightly back. Shoes kicked off, knees drawn up, he curled inward, careful not to nudge the broad expanse of his brother’s side.

The air felt too close, too heavy, every inch between them taut with unspoken words and old arguments.

Shit… being this near makes the space shrink, makes every movement feel loud, every breath too loud. Sonic shifted again, just enough to settle without offense, trying to claim the comfort of his old spot while tiptoeing around the weight of…well, everything.

Shadow returned to the room and, with the same effortless precision he carried into everything, dropped onto the floor instead of the couch. His quills fanned slightly as he arranged himself with that quiet, controlled intensity, crimson streaks stark against the dark of his fur. Sonic froze for a beat, watching, a pang twisting in his chest.

Only now, seeing Shadow settle into the spot Sonic had half-considered claiming for himself, did a flicker of jealousy prick at him. That space - small, unassuming, mundane - suddenly felt occupied, claimed by a presence that seemed to draw gravity toward it. Sonic’s shoulders tensed, a quiet, reluctant longing threading through him.

Damn… he should’ve thought of that sooner. 

“It’s about to start!” Tails chirped, a grin lighting up his face as he scrambled forward, weaving between Knuckles and the couch to dive headfirst into the carefully arranged nest of blankets.

A soft flick of the remote, a click that rang far too loudly in the hush of the room, and the opening credits unfurled across the screen - vivid, alive, impossible to ignore. The movie had begun.

And with it came the unspoken dance: furtive glances avoided, the invisible weight of lingering tension pressing quietly against them, and the gentle, rhythmic snores of Tails barely five minutes in, curled up like a small, exhausted island in the plush tower.

His thoughts circled back to where they always drifted in the quiet - 

To Knuckles.

To the echidna whose hands rested close enough that Sonic could feel their heat, steady and real, even after everything. His brother, the one he’d wounded so carelessly in a moment carved from shock and fear. The boy built from duty and purpose - burdens Sonic would never fully grasp - whose devotion he had all but spat on simply because he couldn’t stomach the taste of his own consequences.

He hadn’t wanted to admit that danger might come for them because of him.

And so the argument rewound itself in his mind for the hundredth, thousandth time. Every version playing out the same. Every imagined apology falling short of what Knuckles deserved. He kept rehearsing it anyway - how he’d say he was sorry, truly sorry, for the way things had erupted, for how fast the spark caught and the whole thing went up in flames.

Guilt weighed on him like a storm-sodden cloak, regret coiling through his chest in cruel, unrelenting spirals, and shame - sharp, jagged - scratched at the hollow of his bones. All of it knotted together, a living tangle of ugly, clawing emotions. His lips parted, tongue trembling, eager to form the words that might untangle it…yet his throat betrayed him. A choke, sudden and merciless. His lungs throbbed, aching, each breath a desperate whisper to his mind: just breathe. Just breathe.

He had been…something unbearable. His jaw locked tight as the darkness flickered across his vision, the screen flaring with color that mocked him. A wedding reception, pristine and gleaming - white flowers like frozen sunlight, a girl trembling with hope, ready to slip the ring onto her finger, to step into a promise. But, as with Sonic, she had strayed too close to the sun, wandered where fate had no place to bless her. Where her vows would not be read. 

Electric blue danced across her skin, crackling and bursting, a chaos of energy that tore her through the roof in a flash of impossible light. And like her, he ran, frantic, the house dissolving behind him, replaced by the wet, unyielding ground that bit at his feet. Words - sharpened, fresh and raw - and memories of pain stung with each pounding step, marking the trail of his flight.

He hadn’t stayed. Hadn’t paused, hadn’t weighed the reasons, hadn’t measured the brutal force in Knuckles’ hands. And now, in the relentless brightness of memory, it burned: the white room, the girl enclosed with three monsters, her fear mirrored in their own monstrous forms.

Knuckles…he had been utterly, mortifyingly, terrified.

He understood that now. 

He thinks Shadow knew that too, in some weird way. 

And he was terrified too - because what if speaking the truth aloud, confessing that there was no path left except to carve the chaos from his body with the last breath of the Master Emerald, was the only way to keep himself alive? What if that was the strike that finally snapped the spine of his brother’s patience?

Would Knuckles have any room left - any inch of unshattered heart - to let Sonic settle into again? To search, amidst the rubble of trust and old wounds, for even the smallest reason to offer forgiveness…

or to offer him back the place he once held?

I’m exercising my right as Guardian to revoke your pledge

The memory shuddered through him as he gave the smallest toss of his head, like brushing off a cold shiver. It didn’t matter anymore though - that didn’t matter. Not now, no matter how insistently it tried to creep back into his mind.

Because as much as it tore at him to wound his brother any further, more than Sonic’s life hung trembling in the balance.

Shadow cut through the darkness like a whisper of motion, barely a silhouette until he sank onto the couch beside Sonic. A quiet exhale left him - heavy, spent - and his attention clicked back to the flickering screen. Sonic let a smile slip into the cradle of his shoulder as he recognised the scene: the giant girl skidding through the city, using two cars as roller skates in her frantic escape from the alien.

They were well past twenty minutes into the movie.

He wanted to say I told you so - the words perched on his tongue like a smug little bird - but he knew they’d only send the hedgehog spiraling into prickly gloom. So instead, he leaned in just slightly, voice lowered to a murmur meant only for the space between them. His eyes never strayed from the screen.

“Wasn’t so comfy down there, was it?”

Shadow was so utterly drawn in by the flashing light and frantic chase that the question nearly slipped past him. Then, without tearing his gaze from the scene, he answered in a soft, distracted monotone,

“It was cold.”

And with that, he dissolved back into silence as the Monsters vs. Aliens pursuit thundered on.

They were nearing the moment when the alien traps the giant woman inside that shimmering, violet cylinder - her towering form shrinking by the second as the creature siphons the meteor’s energy from her - when Sonic felt it: a sudden weight settling onto his shoulder, softness pressed against his neck.

Warmth.

Shadow’s warmth.

A quiet, unthinking lean.

His gaze slipped downward almost by accident, and the sight waiting for him softened something in his chest. Shadow had slumped sideways in his sleep, head nestled against Sonic’s shoulder with a quiet, unguarded trust that felt startling in its tenderness. The usually rigid quills along his crown had instinctively tipped away - subtle, protective shifts of instinct and muscle - as if even unconscious, Shadow’s body refused to let a single spine trouble him.

A warmth bloomed where Shadow’s temple pressed lightly into him, and Sonic froze on instinct, breath caught halfway in his throat. Any movement - any twitch - felt like it might disturb this rare, peaceful closeness. Shadow’s weight wasn’t heavy, just present, grounding in a way Sonic hadn’t realized he’d been needing.

He listened.

To the soft exhale brushing the curve of his neck.

To the faint, steady rise and fall against his shoulder.

To the muted, almost childlike calm that had replaced Shadow’s usual sharpness.

It wrapped around him slowly, like stepping into a quiet room after a long day.

Only when the rhythm settled - smooth, even, and deeply asleep - did Sonic let the tension ease from his limbs. He shifted just enough to get comfortable, careful as a whisper, and let the glow of the movie return to his attention.

But his eyes kept wandering back to the hedgehog dozing against him, quills tucked safely away, features softened in the dim light. And for a few moments more, Sonic simply let himself exist in that small, unexpected warmth - like family in the truest sense, found rather than born.

His attention was pulled away only when a low, careful clearing of a throat brushed the air. Knuckles. By the time Sonic blinked back to himself and tore his eyes from the screen, those amethyst eyes were already on him—steady, patient, almost… thoughtful.

“We should… talk.”

The words came out firmer than Knuckles intended, and he flinched at the sound, immediately glancing down at the little fox curled comfortably against him. His gaze slid sideways next - to Shadow, relaxed and unguarded on Sonic’s other side.

Sonic followed that look, expecting the old sharpness to show itself somewhere in Knuckles’ expression. But there was nothing of the sort. No suspicion. No judgement. Not even the faintest shadow of resentment.

Just a quiet openness, something gentler than Sonic had seen in a long time.

It struck him - struck deep - how much they’d grown closer in all their small, accidental ways… while somehow letting space widen between themselves. The thought ached. It pressed into him like a bruise as he met Knuckles’ gaze, a mix of curiosity, dread, and that uncomfortable emotional reluctance pooling in his chest at whatever came next.

“Yeah…” The word slipped out as Sonic pieced together what Knuckles was really asking. It was there - in the way the echidna’s face seemed to fold in on itself, sadness tugging his features downward, and in how quietly he spoke despite the TV’s static and the soft breathing of the two sleeping beside them.

Sonic felt it settle heavy and familiar in his chest.

“We should… shouldn’t we?” He tried to smile, but it came out fragile, cracked at the edges - something held together more by habit than hope.

Knuckles shifted with deliberate care, easing Tails lower until the little fox rested fully in his lap. His hands cupped around him instinctively, broad and steady, gentling their youngest as though he were something fragile and fiercely treasured. When he spoke, the words slipped out in a near-breath - quiet, cautious, like he feared a normal tone might shatter the stillness of the room or shake loose the walls holding them all together.

“Sonic…” Knuckles began, the word low and rough, “I’m not exactly… accustomed to rebuilding burnt bridges.” He swallowed hard, his throat working around the weight of the admission. One hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing over the soft fur behind Tails’ ear. He stroked the fox in a slow, habitual rhythm - comfort for Tails, yes, but also for himself.

“I’d like to think ours hasn’t… completely perished under the flames,” he murmured, a thumb tracing a small circle into Tail’s fur. “At least - I hope it hasn’t.”

Sonic parted his lips, the nickname spilling out before he could think better of it. “Knucks -” He stiffened, careful not to jostle Shadow leaning against him.

Knuckles flinched - not from the name, but from the fear of being interrupted. “No - please. Just… let me. I need to say this.” His breath hiccupped in his chest, barely audible, but Sonic heard it. Felt it. And he went still, giving him the silence he asked for.

They held each other’s gaze, something raw and old passing between them - a history of fights, reconciliations, unspoken loyalties, all the ways they had failed and forgiven each other over the years.

Knuckles’ hand drifted higher, gently pinching the longer hairs of Tails’ tuft, grounding himself in the smallest, safest motion he could manage.

“I… said things out of anger,” he admitted, the words trembling like they were cut from somewhere deep. “And fear. Mostly fear.” His voice cracked openly now. No attempt to hide it. “I let it all turn me around. Let it twist everything until I couldn’t see straight. My mouth moved faster than my mind, and I hurt you because of it.”

Sonic’s breath caught. He stared, wide-eyed and completely silent.

He’d imagined a thousand versions of this moment. Apologies that were sharp. Defensive. Half-hearted. Or worst of all - nothing at all.

But this…This was Knuckles stripped down to his core, hands shaking softly around the fox he loved, eyes shining with something close to sorrow.

The weight of every confession fell between them like ash drifting from a long, extinguished fire.

Knuckles exhaled shakily. “My actions were… shameful. No excuses. I made you believe you come second. That you were an afterthought.” He shook his head, jaw flexing. “And that’s not true. It never was.”

In the background, the movie was reaching its end, the fading soundtrack humming like a memory against the walls.

“And yes,” Knuckles continued, softer now, almost reverent, “the emerald is important to me. It always will be.” His eyes lifted - amethyst and earnest, bright in the dimness. “But not - not nearly as important as my brothers.”

The words hit Sonic’s chest like a warm blow, knocking the air from his lungs.

“As important as you,” Knuckles finished, voice fragile but firm.

He let the words sit between them - brave, bare, and terrifyingly sincere.

And Sonic, for a long moment, could only sit there with his heart cracking open in the best, softest way, wondering how he could ever respond with anything that held the same weight.

“I’m sorry for taking it out on you. For… avoiding you.” Knuckles’ jaw clenched around the words - he hated admitting that one, especially after swearing up and down to Shadow that he hadn’t been. “And for punishing you for an accident you had no control over. It wasn’t your fault.”

His eyes flicked down toward Shadow, asleep and slumped against Sonic’s shoulder, and Sonic didn’t miss the glance. Not this time.

Knuckles breathed out slowly. “I jumped to conclusions. Filled in blanks with the worst possible answers because I let my emotions run the show. I should’ve talked to you. Not - interrogated you like you were a threat.”
He shook his head, face tight with regret. “I’ve been a lousy brother to you. I know that.”

Sonic felt his face twist - because hearing Knuckles say something so honest and so self-directed hit harder than anything else could have. Words like that weren’t supposed to come out of Knuckles’ mouth. Not this clearly. Not this raw.

“I promise… I will never - ”

“I’m sorry too.” Sonic’s voice cracked straight through the middle. He couldn’t help it.

His whole body trembled, subtle vibrations he couldn’t suppress, and his eyes blurred before a single tear even fell. “I’m so sorry for how I reacted. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t mature enough to understand the damage I’d done.”

He swallowed, breath hitching. “I’m so sorry, Knuckle. For breaking the one thing that mattered most.”

Knuckles froze at that - like the words had stunned him still. His eyes darted over Sonic’s expression: the wobbling lip, the wet shimmer of his eyes, the panic edging his voice.

Sonic pushed on, voice unraveling. “If I had just reached out - if I had said something sooner about how I’ve been feeling - you wouldn’t have even been tempted to think the things you did. None of this would’ve happened. The stress, the fighting, the whole - whole mess - if I just -”

His breath cracked into a quiver, but before he could spiral further, Knuckles’ hand came down on Sonic’s free shoulder, firm and steady. A grounding weight.

Knuckles gave him a look - half stern, half soft - as a small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “I just said it wasn’t your fault,” he reminded him, lightly scolding. “Do I need to beat it through your thick skull?”

He tapped his own temple for emphasis, and despite himself, Sonic let out a small, broken laugh—quiet, but real.

“We’re such idiots,” Sonic managed, voice trembling with a sob that fought its way up his chest. “If I had known you felt like this… I would’ve run over here apologizing ages ago.”

Another breath shuddered through him. “I… I thought you’d never forgive me.”

Tears finally broke free, spilling down his cheeks as he scrubbed at them with the heels of his palms, shoulders trembling.

And Knuckles didn’t look disgusted or disappointed. He just looked like a brother seeing his brother hurting - 

 and staying.

“I forgave you the second it happened,” Knuckles admitted quietly, softer than Sonic had ever heard him. His hand stilled on Tails’ fur, fingers curling gently as he looked down at his lap. “I was just… dealing. Trying not to fall apart before coming back to you.”

Sonic sniffed, blinked, and let his gaze drift to Shadow’s limp arm resting against his side. “Me too,” he admitted, voice tight. Then, a nervous laugh broke through, uneven and wet. “But - uh, this is random, I know - but could you hear me out for a second… and maybe freak out afterward?”

Knuckles raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You listened to me. I can listen to you. Least I can do after… well, all that needless arguing.”

Sonic's lopsided, anxious smile returned. “Okay… so, you see how Tails was trying to stabilize the chaos inside me, so Shadow could remove it as painlessly as possible?” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah… well, since we’re already talking forgiveness and mistakes, I thought I’d just… tell you. We need to use the Master Emerald to remove the chaos. There’s no other way.”

He barreled through the words, breathless, almost bouncing in place.

Knuckles blinked. “What?”

Sonic laughed, nervously, catching his breath. Then he explained. Slowly this time, with gestures and careful emphasis.

Tails, groggy and half-asleep from being woken, shuffled closer, rubbing at his eyes as he provided more detail. Knuckles, meanwhile, ran a hand through his fur as he spoke, voice low and tense as he worried aloud about the effects the six Chaos Emeralds could have on Sonic’s body. Each word carried the weight of concern, and even without looking at the stones themselves, his shoulders were coiled with barely contained tension.

Shadow stirred next, blinking into the dim light, and with a sharp shove, sent Sonic sprawling to the floor when he realized how close the two of them had gotten. Sonic let out a startled yelp, cheeks warming instantly as a flush spread across his muzzle.

Yet Shadow remained unusually still, settling cross-legged with an almost unnerving calm. His gaze fixed on the space between Sonic and Knuckles as if he could read every unspoken thought, tracking the subtle, nearly imperceptible shift in their dynamic. It was quiet, tense, and heavy with possibility - like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Why am I the last to know?!” Knuckles snapped, glaring at them with his usual mix of frustration and disbelief - but not anger. 

“Sorry!” Sonic and Tails shouted at the same time, and in an instant, the two of them dove for cover - Tails under the table, Sonic behind the couch. Knuckles paused, eyebrow twitching, while Shadow stayed put, unbothered, as the sound of Maddie’s pounding footsteps echoed closer.

“Crap - we were way too loud!” Sonic hissed, peeking over his hiding spot. “I forgot it was late!” 

“Everyone, run!” Tails squeaked, scrambling after Sonic.

“Boys!” Maddie’s voice rang out, and for once, it was Shadow laughing as Sonic, Tails, and even Knuckles scattered in three different directions, chaos unfolding exactly as Sonic would have predicted.

Sonic realized something was off the very first time - not all at once, but in that slow, creeping way a chill works its way up your spine. And that quiet certainty only settled deeper when he fell asleep again that night after the movie party.

He followed a blonde girl at a careful distance, her steps familiar in a way they shouldn’t have been, her presence stirring something he couldn’t name.

It wasn’t until she turned her head - just slightly, as if sensing him in a place he had no right to be - that the truth slid into him like a dagger wrapped in velvet:

This wasn’t his life.

This wasn’t his moment.

He was walking inside a memory that didn’t belong to him at all - but to Shadow. And once he realised that, the air around him seemed to hold its breath, as if the memory itself knew he shouldn’t be there.

Yet the visions did not fade. They returned, night after night, persistent. Just as the very first one, on the same night as the electrical accident. 

At first, Sonic recoiled - instinctively, like someone flinching from a draft that shouldn’t exist. Wonder tugged at him from one side, unease from the other, leaving him suspended in a strange tension. These visions felt foreign in a way that raised the quills along his spine:  soft at the edges, but wrong in the center - like touching a photograph and feeling it pulse beneath his fingertips.

Yet as the nights unraveled, something in him began to shift.

What once pricked at him with unfamiliarity slowly unfurled into something he recognized - not in memory, but in the bone-deep way one recognizes a dream long before they understand it. The pull grew steady, threading itself through him like a heartbeat not his own. A restless ache coiled low in his chest, tugging each time he closed his eyes, each time sleep approached.

The visions didn’t simply appear; they seeped -  sliding through the thin seams of sleep like a needle of light slipping under a locked door, illuminating what should have stayed hidden. They wound through him with quiet precision, whispering in the spaces where consciousness frayed.

And what they left behind wasn’t fear.

Fear would have been simpler.

Cleaner.

Instead, a curiosity bloomed - sharp, insistent, aching - a longing to understand the fragments he was being shown, to chase the meanings that hovered just out of reach like shadows cast by a dying star.

He couldn’t shake it.

And the truth was, he didn’t want to anymore.

He leaned into those fragments the way one leans toward a whisper they aren’t supposed to hear. Each glimpse revealed a version of Shadow he’d never seen in waking life - a gentler silhouette carved out of softness and silence, a Shadow who hadn’t yet learned to build walls out of steel and stubborn pride.

And Sonic, suspended in someone else’s past, couldn’t look away.

“Happy birthday!”

Maria’s voice cut across the Ark’s low, mechanical hum, bright and warm enough to feel out of place in a world made of metal corridors and recycled air. 

Sonic watched her - through Shadow’s eyes, but somehow not - standing before him with a small pink box held between cupped hands. Its corners were softened by time, its lid scribbled with the careless pencil marks of childhood. It carried the unmistakable texture of Earth - of life lived under open sky rather than cold, artificial light.

A life Shadow had never touched but Maria still held onto like a promise.

Shadow’s head lifted at her voice, and Sonic felt the memory tighten around him, the way a dream does when it refuses to let you wake.

Shadow’s gaze flicked from the gift to the tray of muted greens and greys before him - the carefully measured paste the doctors swore was “optimal for his development.” Food that built strength, never comfort.

Fuel, not a meal.

It was sustenance - nothing more.

“I don’t have a birthday,” Shadow said, his tone somewhere between matter-of-fact and genuinely puzzled. He let the spoon fall back into the slop and tilted his head, as if turning the concept over like a strange object he’d never held before. A truth spoken by someone who’d never been given a beginning.

Maria laughed softly, shaking her head with a fond exasperation only she could manage. “Oh, Shadow… everyone has a birthday.”

Before he could argue, she reached out - gently, but with the kind of certainty he never knew how to resist - and took his hand.  She turned his palm upward and placed the little box into it, her fingers brushing his.

Shadow leaned forward without meaning to, caught off guard by the warmth, by the closeness, by how lightly she touched him and how heavily it landed. “I - I don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice small in a way Sonic had never heard.

“It’s not much,” Maria said, cheeks warming with anticipation, “but I hope you like it.”

She slid into the seat beside him, bouncing once as her excitement spilled over. “Well? Go on! Open it!”

Shadow didn’t. He stared at the box, then at her, then back again, confusion softening the harsh lines the scientists had drawn into his posture.

“Is my birthday really today?” he asked, earnest as a child seeing stars for the first time.

Maria froze, shoulders tightening like someone caught with stolen sweets in their hands. “Um… I don’t know, actually.” She laughed at herself, rubbing her neck. “When I asked Grandpa, he wouldn’t give me a date. I don’t think he knows, either.”

Her smile gentled, timid and shy. “So… I figured we could choose one. Your birthday doesn’t have to be something they decide.”

Maria twisted in her chair to look at the calendar pinned to the wall, her ponytail swaying like a comet’s trail behind her.

“Let’s see… today is…” She traced the grid with her fingertip, then spun back around, bright as starlight. “The twenty-first of October! There. That’s your birthday now.”

She leaned closer, eyes warm enough to eclipse the sterile lights above them. “So you’ll celebrate it with me… right?”

Shadow blinked slowly, the faintest warmth settling into his voice -  a softness Sonic had never seen him offer to anyone else. “If it’s important to you,” he said quietly,  “…then yes. I will.”

Maria seemed to glow from the inside out at his words, a warm, golden light spilling from her like sunlight through a window. She scooted closer, her shoulder brushing his, and the faint, familiar sweetness of her lavender scent wove itself around him, threading through the sharp, smoky edge of his own presence.

“I’m glad.” she whispered, almost to herself, as though the promise alone was enough of a gift.

Shadow lowered his gaze to the box again. His fingers curled around it with a strange, careful reverence - like he feared he might damage something delicate simply by holding it wrong. He had been engineered to withstand chaos, vacuum, impact, warfare… but not this.

 Not a moment this small and human.

Sonic felt it through him - the unsteadiness, the mild disbelief, the soft, bewildered ache of being loved so simply.

Maria nudged him. “Go on. I want to see your face when you open it!”

Shadow swallowed once, a subtle movement, but Sonic felt the sensation ripple through the memory. He lifted the lid.

Inside lay a small bracelet - threads woven unevenly, clumsily, childlike in its construction but bright with effort. Little beads spelled his name, each letter tilted at odd angles, imperfect and earnest.

Shadow stared at it as if he had never seen something made for him before. As if he didn’t know how to process the idea that someone had sat down and crafted something for him - not Project Gerald, not the Ultimate Lifeform -  but him in mind.

Maria leaned in. “It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she hurried to add, suddenly flustered. “It’s… I made it last night. And I kind of ran out of the good beads. And the string kept tangling.  And I wasn’t sure what colors you’d like because you’ve never told me but - ”

“It’s perfect,” Shadow said. The words were soft - fragile, almost.

He traced one of the beads with the tip of a gloved finger, and Sonic felt something inside him coil painfully.

Something like guilt.

Something like awe.

Because this Shadow -  quiet, uncertain, touched by kindness -  felt worlds apart from the hardened creature he knew.

Maria’s breath left her in a relieved laugh. “Then… then if you’d like, I can make you something every year. A tiny heirloom. It’ll be our tradition.” 

Shadow nodded. A small movement. But it held more sincerity than most people gave in entire speeches.

Sonic felt his chest begin to ache. The kind of ache that followed him into waking moments, settling somewhere beneath his ribs. Because he wasn’t supposed to see this. He wasn’t supposed to know how gently Shadow had once existed, how deeply Maria had shaped him, how much had been taken.

He didn’t know where to store that feeling.  Not for Shadow. Not for himself.

Maria swung her legs beneath the chair, humming happily.

“Shadow?” she asked softly.

“Yes?”

“It might sound selfish but…” Maria paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes flicking upward as if searching for courage. Then she exhaled - half a laugh, half a sigh - already imagining how her brother would respond. “I’m glad it’s you I get to be up here with. If I have to be stuck in space… I’m happy it’s you.”

Shadow lowered the bracelet into his lap, his fingers tracing one of the uneven beads as though memorising its texture. “…So am I,” he answered, quiet but sure.

And Sonic - caught in the center of a memory that wasn’t his - felt the edges of the world begin to shimmer. The floor softened, the walls blurred, shapes growing weightless as the dream prepared to unravel.

He knew the pattern by now: the way reality bent just before the next vision seized him.

Still, his stomach dropped. His chest tightened with a sharp, sinking ache.

Because even as the scene faded - even as Maria’s laughter dissolved into static and light - he already missed this moment he was never meant to witness.

Already mourning its loss before it was gone.

The laboratory had long since dipped into its artificial dusk, the overhead panels dimming to a soft amber hush. Maria stood at the center of the room beneath a cone of warm light, cradling a freshly painted constellation mobile - delicate wires strung with tiny glass planets that shimmered as though they carried stolen starlight.

She twirled once, making the orbiting spheres chime against one another in crystalline whispers. Her delight - quiet but incandescent - thrummed through the air like a victorious pulse.

Shadow lingered behind a column, half-hidden in its penumbra. The dim glow glanced off the contours of his silhouette, etching a faint aureole along his quills. His posture was immaculate, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind him with ceremonial discipline - but his expression betrayed him. A faint softening at the edges of his eyes, an almost imperceptible upward tilt at the corner of his mouth.

When she lifted the mobile toward the light and gasped at the sudden refraction of color, Shadow’s fingers twitched - a small, instinctive contraction, as though some buried undertow of pride recoiled upward through him.

She did not see him. He made certain of that.

Yet he remained, watching her cradle her own victory with reverence, bathed in a glow she had crafted from fragile wire and earnest effort. And in the almost-sacred quiet that followed, he bowed his head ever so slightly - a private, devotional gesture no one would ever witness, meant only for her.

At the early stages of their newly-acquired friendship - his sister proposed an idea. 

Shadow knelt on the floor with the rigid poise of a marble statue, his silhouette sharp and immaculate. Maria sat behind him on a folded blanket, posture relaxed, her knees brushing lightly against his back as she sifted through the dense, silky forest of his quills.

The overhead light gilded each strand with a faint obsidian sheen, slick and glossy like polished volcanic glass. Maria lifted a section of quills between her fingers, examining their texture with an almost scholarly fascination.

“Your quills catch light like gemstones,” she murmured, drawing them gently apart. “I could weave a tapestry from these.”

Shadow didn’t dare move. Her touch sent delicate static currents across his scalp, sensations so foreign and unexpectedly gentle they bordered on vertigo. Every soft brush of her fingertips echoed through the back of his skull in warm, spiraling ripples.

She began to braid.

Her fingers moved with deliberate slowness, guiding one glossy strand over another, weaving them into intricate patterns that looked like dark silk coiled into a disciplined helix. Occasionally, she paused to smooth an unruly quill, her touch feather-light and steady, as though she feared disturbing some hidden fragility.

“You’re being very brave,” she teased softly. “Your cooperation is noted.”

Shadow managed a faint, controlled breath. “This is… an atypical procedure,” he admitted, voice low and roughened by restraint. “And unfamiliar.”

“It’s not a procedure, or bad” she corrected gently, looping another quill into the braid. “It’s Trust. Something new”

A warmth unfurled through him - subtle, spreading like morning light creeping across stone.

She tied the end of the braid with a thin ribbon, pale and shimmering, a color that contrasted beautifully with the deep darkness of his quills. When she finished, she rested her hands briefly at the nape of his neck.

“There,” she whispered. “A warrior’s crown.”

Shadow didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

But his eyes softened, their red no longer a warning flare but a quiet, smoldering glow.

For the first time, he felt beautiful under someone’s hands.

Maria sat atop a maintenance crate, her legs folded beneath her like a folded-wing bird poised for flight. Her eyes glittered with determined mischief - the particular sparkle she wore when she had decided, with absolute certainty, that she was going to extract a reaction from him.

Shadow sat on the floor across from her, posture military-straight, composure fortified like a fortress built of steel and habit. His hands rested neatly upon his knees; his expression betrayed nothing.

Maria cleared her throat in a dramatized flourish.  “Shadow,” she intoned, “prepare yourself. This joke is astronomically terrible.”

He blinked once. A slow, steady blink of impending doom.

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “What do you call a star that refuses to stay put?”

Shadow stared. “I cannot imagine.”

“A celestial troublemaker.”

Silence.

Maria’s smile widened with dangerous delight.  “Okay, okay. How about  - Why did the comet fail its presentation?”

Shadow exhaled through his nose, as if bracing for impact. “…Why.”

“It suffered from - ” She paused purely for dramatic effect. “- crippling cosmic stage fright.”

She didn’t simply laugh - she burst into laughter, folding forward like the joke had physically struck her. The sound ricocheted through the room, bright and uncontrolled, echoing off the metallic walls with the warmth of bells shaken by a playful wind.

Shadow remained still… for all of three seconds.

Then one of his quills twitched. Just barely. But it happened.

Maria shot upright, hands covering her mouth in a triumphant gasp. “Oh! I saw that. Don’t you dare deny it!”

“I made no such - ”

“You twitched, Shadow. That’s practically a laugh! In hedgehog language that’s -  that’s a whole guffaw!”

Shadow averted his gaze, ears burning with mortified warmth. “…You are unbearable.”

“And you adore me anyway,” she sang gleefully.

He said nothing. But the faintest ghost of amusement - shy, reluctant, embarrassingly warm - flickered across his lips before he crushed it out of existence.

Maria saw it.

Maria always saw it.

And her laughter softened into something gentler, a small glow of affection that warmed the space between them.

In this memory, Shadow’s gaze was fixed on the gift.

The broken gift.

Maria reached out, hands trembling just slightly, hovering an inch from his skin. “It’s okay… I can make a new one,” she said softly, voice steady despite the uncertainty in her movements.  Not that she feared he’d hurt her - no, that would never happen. But she didn’t know if her touch was what he wanted, what he needed.

And in some deep corner of himself, he appreciated the suggestion, but - 

“It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t be the same.” His voice was low, rough, barely more than a rasp, and he didn’t lift his eyes from the scattered beads. The first four letters of his name peeked out from the chaos of yellow and pink, half-buried beneath fallen fragments. “Half of it… rolled down the vent.”

Maria’s eyes softened, a quiet understanding shimmering there as she nudged the last few, wayward beads toward him with her hand. “I know…I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have done that.” she murmured, as her eyes glimmered with a mixture of worry and sympathy. Apologizing for something beyond her control. 

The doctors had found the bracelet tucked beneath his glove - its string frayed, beads warm from where Maria had fastened it around his wrist earlier that month. And when he refused to hand it over, when he held his arm tight against his side with that quiet, stubborn defiance they hated… they’d done the next best thing.

Or the worst.

They destroyed it.

Shadow’s hand remained still, trembling faintly as he gathered what he could. His voice was quieter now, a deep drawl of controlled frustration. “It’s not your fault,” he said, as though anchoring her in place, “like you said… it was them.”

A soft edge of anger threaded through his tone, low enough that it might have gone unnoticed - but not to Sonic, who hovered in the periphery of the memory.

He felt the storm of disappointment swirl there, small embers of resentment flickering beneath the surface. He saw a darkness glinting like crumpled foil, a flame hidden under its edges, quietly cooking what had been tender and whole.

And felt as his body was ripped into a new dream. 

And as those fragile, gold-lit memories played out night after night - soft as lantern-glow trembling in the dark - Sonic watched them with a strange, aching tenderness… and a bitterness he couldn’t quite swallow. He let himself sink into their warmth, their innocence, their quiet, unguarded joy… until that warmth began to feel wrong.

Too bright.

Too delicate.

Too blinding.

Too fragile.

Like a veil drawn over something rotting beneath.

Because he never expected the shift - the inevitable fracture that came every time.

He never expected the sweetness to split open.

To curdle.

To bleed.

He never expected those moments - so gentle they left a tightness in his throat - to peel themselves back, layer by delicate layer, exposing something blackened and snarling beneath.

Not simple cruelty.

Not mere unkindness.

But a cold-blooded malice that had no business existing anywhere near a child’s world.

It seeped out slowly, oozing through cracks in the floorboards like a corrosive toxin, tainting the air until every breath burned. Sonic felt it - felt the horror coil around his ribs like a tightening wire, felt the cold crawl into his lungs until even drawing breath became a struggle.

And then, without warning, that brightness would collapse - snuffed out in a single heartbeat.

What followed always made his stomach drop, made his pulse spike, made his fingers tremble so violently he’d wake unsure if he was dreaming… or suffocating inside someone else’s nightmare.

Because these couldn't be called dreams anymore. They were vivisections of someone else’s agony - slices into a past Shadow has buried so deeply he pretends it never had a pulse.

And Sonic was being dragged through every incision.

Again.

And again.

And again.

There was the red - thick, congealing, heavy - dripping from the mangled stumps where limbs had been hacked away, the cauterised ends smoking like meat left too long on a wire.

There was the sickly green liquid rising past Shadow’s chest, then his throat, then his muzzle, swallowing him inch by inch with no air pocket, no mercy, only the slow, deliberate suffocation engineered to observe how long he’d thrash.

There was the ceaseless sprinting, his feet skidding through his own sweat, nails cracking against metal floors as alarms shrieked and something unseen chased him because fear was part of the data.

And there was the infection - black-veined, bubbling - chewing up his arm in greedy mouthfuls but never allowed to finish the job, because his body healed just fast enough to keep the suffering going. 

And when each memory split open under its own rot, the screams came with it - wet, guttural, torn from a place no one should ever have to reach. They rattled inside Sonic’s ribs like they were trying to climb in, unnervingly familiar, as if they’d been echoing inside Shadow for so many years they were relieved - euphoric - to finally bleed into someone else’s skull. 

Sonic’s breath hitched. His body locked itself in place. The air thickened around him, dense and suffocating, tightening like an invisible hand closing around his throat.

Maria’s voice drained away.

The Ark’s sterile hum fell into a dead hush.

Even the light seemed to hold its breath.

And then - slowly, unnervingly slowly - Shadow moved in a way he never had in any of the visions before.

Not toward Maria.

Not toward the scientists.

Not toward the scene the memory was meant to replay.

He turned his head… inch by inch… toward the darkened pane of a window. His crimson eyes sliced through the dim like twin razors, angling toward a place Sonic knew he shouldn’t occupy - toward the space where he was watching.

And in the split-second their gazes aligned, those eyes were no longer softened by youth.

They were cold.

Precise.

Aware.

The memory ruptured.

And everything was swallowed in a sudden, suffocating black.