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Tom remembers his father waking him up one early morning during his formative years. The rest of the household was dead silent with its inhabitants sleeping. The world itself seemed asleep, too, and Tom didn’t understand in the moment why his father so incessantly kept Tom from going back to sleep. Tom, however, did what his father told him to. He stayed awake, and he got dressed in the clothes his mother laid out for him the night before. He learned why she had set them out then, but he still wasn’t sure what the purpose of any of this was. All he knew is that his father was making him eat a light breakfast while the moonlight shone through the kitchen window. Tom’s confusion burned bright in his sleepy mind, but his father wasn’t keen on giving answers.
His father took him outside into the remnants of the night’s chill. Tom was grateful to his mother for setting out his thickest clothes and jacket, but he distinctly remembers thinking that he wanted to return to his bed. His father wouldn’t have it. Instead, his father took him to the shed to grab fishing supplies. Tom realized then what they were going to do. At first, he wasn’t partial to the idea. Sleep was preferable to anything, but if he had to be awake, he would have rather watched cartoons or colored. There was even a book he could have taken a peek at that would have been preferable to fishing.
His complaints were left unsaid because he knew his father would have been none too pleased to hear them. Tom loaded the fishing stuff into the backseat of his father’s truck. He crawled in after them. He dozed off as his father drove them to a nearby lake. His father woke him up again, and they brought all the fishing supplies to the water’s surface. His father set them both in a boat. He paddled them out to the rough center of the lake (at least, in the center of their general area). His father went through the motions of teaching Tom how to fish.
It was an important experience for Tom. Despite his earlier doubts, Tom grew to love fishing. The process of fishing was soothing even if it wasn’t exactly entertaining (though he learned to find entertainment in it after he grew older). It was mainly nice to spend time with his father, though. His father was a busy man— what with running the household and being the local sheriff. Tom respected and loved his father dearly, but he always felt disconnected from the man until the two of them shared this early morning pastime. It was something that even Tom’s brothers— violent bullies that they were— weren’t able to encroach on. It was only for Tom and his father.
His father also taught him valuable lessons out on the lake. He internalized every single one. While many factors contributed into the making of the man Tom became, it wouldn’t be fair to say his father didn’t play a big part. His lessons guided Tom forward. Most of them were respectable. Tom needed to let a few of them go as the times changed. Tom still appreciates that his father gave him this advice even if not all of it was applicable. He still wanted to share these lessons (the good, acceptable ones) with his own children, should he ever have any.
And he does have children now. He has three sons. Tom considers them adopted despite all three being literal aliens from beyond the sky without legal paperwork. There was a time, however, when he only had one son: his middle child, Sonic. Before Sonic acknowledged Tom as a father, Tom saw Sonic as a son. He took Sonic fishing to spend quality time together and impart some life lessons. His early attempts backfired for many reasons including Sonic blatantly rejecting their father-son relationship.
Even after acceptance, though, Sonic never learned to like fishing. Tom should have known considering how energetic Sonic is. That hedgehog cannot sit still no matter what. Tom finds it humorous most of the time. He understands this fact all of the time, and he doesn’t want to force Sonic to be stuck anywhere. While Sonic’s speed could easily get him back to the shore, Tom noticed the gradual process of him developing a fear of water. Sonic won’t admit it, but he doesn’t need to. Tom knows, and that gives him yet another reason to keep Sonic as far away from these fishing trips as possible (as if one reason wasn’t enough for Tom).
Tom will figure out a different way to impart life lessons on his middle child. He’ll focus on figuring out if his other two sons have any interest in fishing.
Surprisingly, Tails seemed more interested than Knuckles did. Tails has always been into technology, and Knuckles was the rough outdoor type, after all. Knuckles conceded to letting Tails go, much to the fox’s excitement. Tom wasn’t bothered either way.
He isn’t bothered by the way Tails is fishing, either. Despite Tom bringing all the usual supplies with him, Tails didn’t grab onto them when he left the truck. Tom watched Tails take off his shoes and socks. He went right into the water. Tom, obviously, panicked at first, but Tails didn’t go too far into the water. The lake’s surface was calm enough that Tom wasn’t too worried about a wave dragging Tails under. He still kept a careful eye on Tails. The kit stood very still, very silent in the shallows. His paws were stretched out on either side of him. His eyes darted across the surface with a strange intensity. Tom nearly freaked out again when Tails leaped right into the water, but the kit stood up fairly quickly with a fish between his teeth.
Tom had an epiphany at that point. He sometimes forgets that his children might be more like the Earth animals they resemble than their alien heritage might lead someone to believe.
Tom shook his head. He removes his boots and socks, setting them beside Tails’ shoes. He rolled up his pants’ leg to step into the water with Tails. There was absolutely no way he was going to catch a fish in his mouth. He isn’t even going to get a fish in his hands. But that isn’t what this is about. Tom wanted to do this with one of his sons to spend time with them. If Tails would rather do it like a fox, Tom can at least try. Hopefully, his failure will cause his son to laugh instead of cringe.
These are the events that have led Tom to standing in the water. His clothes are damp from him splashing the water around him in an attempt to catch a fish (he hasn’t caught a single one). The sun rises in the distance, but it isn’t warm enough to dry Tom off. It isn’t enough to chase the chill from his body. He should have just set a chair on the beach and fished from there, but Tom’s already in the water. No point in changing positions now.
In his peripheral vision, Tom hears Tails turn. He also heard the splashing in the water. Tom lifts his gaze toward the kit. A silver-colored fish wildly whips around in Tails’ mouth. The kit manages to hold onto the slippery creature. Tom’s lips twitch with a smile. He walks over to Tails. The kit tilts his head back to look into Tom’s eyes, unsubtly searching for something. Tom puts one hand between Tails’ ears to rub the fur. He holds his other hand open beneath Tails’ jaw. The kit lets the fish go. It lands in Tom’s hand. He continues petting Tails’ fur as he throws the fish toward the lake. It flies through the other, and the splash it creates when it lands is rather amusing.
“You’re great at this,” Tom declares with conviction and earnestness in his tone. He turns toward Tails with a large smile spread across his face. Tails’ eyes widen. His namesakes start wagging back and forth. They’re more fluid than Ozzie’s tail, but Tom imagines the reasons are similar.
Tom notices a shift in Tails. It’s as if Tails had a thought that made him a little less happy. The evidence is clear when his tails fall back down (barely avoiding the water), but there are nuances in his expression. The light in his eyes weakens, and his smile seems more strained as he props it up. “Really?”
Tom finds his own smile undergoing similar tension. He manages to keep it from turning into a frown. He nods at Tails. He gestures to the other side of the lake despite meaning the water itself. “Of course you are! You’ve caught almost every fish you’ve tried to. If that doesn’t mean you’re doing great, what does?”
Tails has failed once so far. Tom can’t forget the expression on Tails’ face when he lifted himself from the water without a caught fish. Tails was surprised by his failure. He was even a little disappointed by it. Tom chuckled, reminding Tails that they all miss the mark sometimes. Tails agreed, but he seemed even more determined to catch every fish he found in his sights as he carefully navigated the shallows.
“I’m a great fisher,” Tails repeats to himself. His smile finally drops into a frown. He tilts his head downward to stare at the water. His reflection is choppy, but the bright orange of his fur does make it clear who he is. “I’m good at this.”
Tom fears he’s made a mistake somehow, but he doesn’t entirely see how. He should fix this, though, especially since Tails seem so down right now. Since his clothes are already partially damp, Tom drops down into a squat without caring which parts of him will be under the water. Tom keeps his attention on Tails. He leans forward to see the kit’s eyes. They haven’t fallen yet, but Tom can see tears. Tom swipes his thumb beneath Tails’ eyes. A few tears fall, and Tom wipes them away. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m good at this. Foxes are supposed to be good at this, and I am. If I’m so good at this, why didn’t…” Tails whispers. There’s a genuine heaviness in the way he speaks. Tom is just confused at this as he is about how he upset Tails in the first place. The kit reaches around to grab onto his tails, though, and he’s already tearing up, so he knows something is seriously wrong.
Instead of finishing his thought, Tails turns away from Tom. He steps out of Tom’s immediate vicinity. He lets go of his tails, and they fall heavily behind him. Tails moves his head away, wiping his tears away quickly as if they were never there in the first place. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, no, don’t do that. Don’t pull away,,” Tom immediately says. He shuffles forward, creating ripples in the water. Tom reaches out to grab Tails’ paw. He gently tugs the kit toward him, both bringing Tails closer and making him face Tom. He doesn’t look at Tom, though. The human continues, anyway. “If it’s upsetting you, it does matter. It matters to me. You can talk to me, Tails, about anything.”
Tails shyly lifts his eyes to meet Tom’s stare. The human smiles encouragingly at him. Tails hurriedly looks away. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “If I’m good at fishing like foxes are supposed to be, that must mean I’m good at being a fox. If that’s so, why didn’t my parents want me?”
Tom takes his turn to take a deep breath. His father never taught him how to respond to a question like this; no one has. There isn’t an easy answer. Tom has to think for a long moment about what he should say to make Tails feel better. It’s long enough that Tails’ eyes return to Tom. He looks like a defendant awaiting the judge’s verdict. It is because of this expression that Tom realizes how important his answer is going to be to Tails. These words are going to stay with Tails for a long time. That adds a whole other layer of complexity beyond simply trying to tell Tails that some parents aren’t fit to be parents without hurting the kit’s feelings any more than they have to be for a conversation like this. If Tails is asking this question, he— on some level— still yearns for his biological parents to an extent. Tom can’t carelessly say anything he would normally like to say about two parents who left their child in the woods to die for a mutation that wasn’t his fault.
Tom takes another deep breath. He squeezes Tails’ paws. Tom smiles at Tails, meeting the kit’s eyes unflinching. “Your parents were blind. They couldn’t see how amazing and special you are, both as a fox and an individual. And I’m sorry that they couldn’t, Tails. I’m sorry they wouldn’t. I wish I could take that pain away from you. I wish I could go back in time and give your parents a piece of my mind. I wish I could do that now, really, but that’s neither here nor there…”
“Why are you saying this?” Tails asks. His voice bubbles with the same unshed tears in his eyes.
Tom almost can’t stand the look in Tails’ baby blue eyes, but he maintains eye contact as a sign of trust and understanding between him and his son. “Because I care about you. I want you to be happy. I want you to feel the love your family here on Earth has for you. You deserve far more than life has given you. It might take a good while, but let me help you get it all— everything you want.”
Tails’ expression swells with confusion. He tilts his head to the side. “You care about me?”
Tom releases a disbelieving noise that sounds similar to a laugh. Tom looks at Tails incredulously. “Of course, I care about you! You’re my son, and I’m your dad, and that’s just how this works. Do you know the reason I brought you here today? It wasn’t because I wanted to catch a lot of fish. It was because I wanted to spend quality time with you. I wanted to share something I love to do with you.”
“My dad? I thought you were Sonic’s dad,” Tails replies.
Tom’s brows furrow together. “I am Sonic’s dad. I’m also Knuckles’ dad. And I’m your dad, too. I can have more than one kid. I can care about all three of you. I love Sonic. I love you, too.”
“But I thought—” Tails silences himself by shaking his head. He exhales out his nose. Tails squeezes Tom’s hands. A trembling smile appears on Tails’ face. It doesn’t make it any less genuine. Tom can see that clearly. “I love you.”
Tom’s entire expression brightens. Tails’ eyes widen at the sight of it, but he finds the inspiration to strengthen his smile. Tom rises from his squat (very aware that his butt is completely wet from being in the water). Tom drops one of Tails’ paws, but he keeps the other one firmly tucked between his fingers. “Come on. I think it’s about time we go home. If you want, we can go fishing again soon. How does that sound?”
“I’d like that,” Tails murmurs. He puts his free paw against his chest, right over his heart. Tails whispers to himself with the same cadence as someone murmuring about their most precious treasure, “Fishing with my dad.”
Tom’s heart swells. He is torn between his urge to absolutely smother Tails in a hug and to make a portal to Tails’ parents so he can demand to know how they could have possibly given Tails up. He does neither, however, knowing that Tails (probably) wouldn’t want him to do either option. Tom just keeps his hand in Tails’ paw, leading the kit back to the truck where they can go home to Tails’ real family— the one who loves him as much as Tom loves the kid.