Archive of Our Own

Day 1.

“Longclaw! No!”

Your little knees collide with the forest floor. Breath heaving, heart racing a mile a minute. For a moment you stare at this spot where your mother had been staring at you, expectant. With all her hopes and dreams in the world for you reflected in her eyes.

The warmth of the ring’s glow slowly fades away, leaving you alone in the darkness of the forest. 

The forest feels wrong, as though it is alive in ways you don’t understand. The towering trees stretch impossibly high, their bark slick and pulsing faintly under your touch, as if they’re breathing. Their branches twist like spindly fingers, reaching for you, curling toward your small, shivering form. 

The ground is spongy and damp beneath you as you scamper back to the bag of rings you had dropped. The last thing she left. The only thing you have left of her. 

You feel watched—not by a pair of eyes, but by hundreds, thousands. They’re pressing down on you from above, below, and all around, their gaze suffocating, alien, and cold. 

And yet, you are alone. 

Day 2.

You’ve found a home. 

To most it would be nothing. Just a torn up cave in the middle of nowhere. Gross. Damp. A little stinky.

But to you, it’s better than nothing. It’s the only place you can call home.

You creep to the farthest corner of the cave, where it’s drier and the puddles don’t reach. You sit down, pulling your knees close to your chest, trying to stay warm. The cold is everywhere, creeping into your small body no matter how tight you hold yourself. You take the big leaf you found earlier and spread it over yourself like a blanket. It’s not much, but it helps a little. It makes you feel safe… at least for now.

Day 6. 

It starts slowly—just one or two quills left behind on the ground when you wake up. 

You don’t think much of it at first. But as the days go by, you notice more of them falling out, littering the floor of your cave. When you touch the spots where they used to be, your skin feels raw and strange. It scares you. 

You’ve never been without your quills before. They’re part of you, your shield, your identity. 

You clutch a fallen quill in your hand, its edges sharp but lifeless, and wonder if it’s because you’re not eating enough, not strong enough. It makes you feel small and powerless, even as you try to ignore the fear creeping up inside you.

You are hungry. Very, very hungry.

It’s been days. You haven’t eaten anything. All you’ve had to drink is rainwater. And your stomach was hurting. You had to find something to eat. 

But how? This was a new planet. What did the inhabitants of this planet eat? Do they hunt? Do they cook? 

You don’t know. You don’t even know where to start. The thought of hunting makes your heart race. What would you hunt? How would you even catch it? What if the animals here are bigger than you? The idea of cooked food feels just as impossible. You don’t have a fire. You don’t even know how to make one. Your stomach growls again, loud and painful, and you clutch at it with small hands. You can’t stay here any longer. If you don’t find something to eat soon, you know you won’t last much longer.

Slowly, you stand up, your legs shaky and weak beneath you. The cave feels colder than ever as you leave the small safety of your corner. You peer out into the forest, the dim light of the strange sky filtering through the trees. 

Everything looks unfamiliar and wrong. The trees are too big, their leaves are strange shapes, and the noises… the noises never stop.

You take a deep breath. You don’t have a choice. 

You step out into the forest, your tiny feet sinking into the soft, muddy ground.

What can you eat? The plants? The fruit, if you can find any? Or are they dangerous? Poisonous? You don’t know the rules here. But you have to try. 

You have to survive.

So you do what you do best.

You run.

You run, and you run, and you run.

Running is good. Running is familiar. Running is what you were the best at. Running was… the last instruction she left you. ‘Never stop running.’

The ground here is flatter, softer, but you don’t slow down. Your stomach aches, but you press on, your tiny heart pounding louder than the rustling leaves behind you.

And then, you see it.

The town.

G-R-E-E-N-H-I-L-L-S…

You don’t know what that’s supposed to say.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Strange, blocky shapes… houses, you think? They stand in neat rows, their walls dull and lifeless compared to the colorful hills of Mobius.

You skid to a stop just outside the edge of the town, your body trembling as you hide behind a bush. The buildings seem so big, towering over the streets like silent guardians. The lights spilling from their windows look warm and inviting, but you don’t trust it.

What if someone sees you? What if they hurt you? You don’t want to go to the mushroom planet. You just got here.

But then your stomach growls again, loud and insistent, and you realize you don’t have a choice. 

Somewhere in that strange, alien town, there has to be food. You’ll just have to find it.

You creep into the strange town, your small frame darting from shadow to shadow. The buildings tower over you, cold and lifeless, and the streets are eerily quiet. Every noise makes your ears twitch, like the rattle of a loose sign, the distant hum of something you can’t see.

Then you smell it. It’s faint at first, but as you follow your nose, the scent grows stronger. It’s… food. Kind of...? It doesn’t smell fresh like the fruit on Mobius, but it’s enough to make your empty stomach twist in desperation.

You find yourself in a wide, empty space. The ground is hard and cracked, lined with faded yellow markings you don’t understand. Strange metal boxes with wheels are scattered around, silent and still. 

The smell is stronger here, and you follow it to a tall, round container with a lid slightly askew. You recognize it from the edge of town… this is where the people throw their waste.

You hesitate. It smells awful up close, a mix of rotting food and something sharp and sour. But you’re so, so hungry. Your small hands grip the edge of the trash can, and with all the strength you can muster, you pull yourself up to peer inside.

The sight makes your nose wrinkle. It’s a mess. There were half-eaten things, crumpled wrappers, and strange objects you can’t identify. But there, near the top, you spot something. A piece of bread, half-squished but not entirely ruined. Beside it is some kind of fruit, bruised and a little slimy. However it was still whole.

Your stomach growls loudly as you reach in, your small hands trembling. The bread is soft in your grip, and the fruit feels strange and sticky, but it doesn’t matter. You drop to the ground with your finds and sit against the cold wall of the metal box, biting into the bread without a second thought.

It’s stale, and the taste is nothing like the fresh food you remember from Mobius, but it fills the emptiness inside you, even just a little. The fruit is sour and mushy, but you eat it anyway, too hungry to care.

For the first time in days, your stomach doesn’t hurt as much. You lean back, still clutching the remains of the bread, and let out a shaky breath. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep you going. For now.

Day 45.

This system works.

 Rummaging through trash. Taking what people discarded. You’ve become better at sneaking into town and digging through the garbage when the humans were all going to bed. Sometimes you couldn’t believe what humans just threw away!

Soon, your cave was filled with discarded things. You found a backpack once, one of the straps broken, but it works well enough to carry things back to your cave. Toys, too, though they’re not much use to you. Sometimes you keep them anyway, just to have something to hold.

But the real treasure is the food. Bruised fruit, stale bread, cans of soup with the labels peeling off. At first, you didn’t know what to do with the cans, but then you figured it out. You found an old metal pot and some sticks, and after much trial and error (and a lot of smoky, failed attempts), you learned how to make a fire.

Now, the cans aren’t just trash—they’re a way to hold food while you cook it. You discovered that heating the soup inside them makes it taste better, even if the edges of the can get a little blackened. You’ve even found scraps of meat sometimes, thrown away for reasons you don’t understand but cooked thoroughly just in case.

Your cave is no longer just a place to sleep. It’s filled with things you’ve found like blankets draped over the walls, tin cans stacked in a corner, and the faint smell of smoke from your tiny fire pit. 

It’s not Mobius. Far from it, actually. But it’s yours.

Day 73.

Each night, you venture out, cautious but determined, and each time you come back with something useful. A tattered book you can’t read but like flipping through. A bent fork and a cracked bowl, perfect for scooping and holding. You’ve made a life out of what humans have thrown away, and though it’s not perfect, it feels a little more like home every day.

The night is cold… much colder than you expected. The damp air clings to your fur, and the wind cuts through you no matter how tightly you curl into yourself. The big leaf isn’t enough to keep it out anymore. You need something warmer. You creep back into the town, your tiny body darting from shadow to shadow. The streets are quiet, but the strange lights from the tall poles above hum faintly, casting long shadows that make everything seem bigger and scarier than it is. Your heart races as you scan the area, looking for anything that might help.

Then, you spot it. Through the window of a small building, you see a pile of soft things stacked on a shelf. Blankets, you think. And pillows, too. Your ears twitch as you scan the area. The lights are on inside, but no one seems to be around.

You find the back door, and to your relief, it’s slightly open. You slip through the crack, holding your breath as you step inside. The smell of the place is strange. It smells like soap and something else you can’t name. The shelves tower over you, full of things you don’t recognize, but your eyes are locked on the pile of blankets near the corner.

Your feet are nearly silent on the smooth floor as you inch closer. Every creak of the building makes you flinch, your ears swiveling to catch the faintest sounds. When you finally reach the shelf, you reach up and tug at the bottom blanket. It’s heavier than you thought, and it nearly topples the whole stack, but you catch it just in time.

Next, you grab a pillow, thankfully it was small and soft, just the right size for you to carry. Hugging the blanket and pillow tightly to your chest, you turn and make your way back to the door, your little heart pounding so hard you’re afraid someone will hear it.

As you slip back into the night, the cold air hits you again, but this time, you have something to fight it. The blanket is big and thick, and when you wrap it around yourself later in the cave, it feels like a warm hug.

The pillow is soft against your head, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you manage to fall asleep without shaking from the cold.

Day 100.

Then it just so happens that it started with the cold.

At first, you thought it was just another chilly night, and it was another of the kind you’d gotten used to since arriving on this strange planet.

But the cold got much worse. 

The wind howled louder, biting at your fur and seeping into your bones, no matter how many blankets you wrapped yourself in. You’d never felt anything like it before. The world outside your cave began to change. The trees, once strange and dark, turned white overnight. At first, you thought it was some kind of ash, falling from the sky in soft, silent flakes. You watched it coat the ground, curious at first, until you stepped outside.

Your feet sank into it, and the freezing wetness shot through you like a shock. You yelped, stumbling back into the cave, shaking the strange, icy substance off your fur. The coldness was alive, or so it seemed. It crept inside your cave on the wind, clinging to you and chilling everything it touched.

Food became harder to find. 

The trash cans in town weren’t as full anymore, and when you did manage to sneak into town, your hands and feet went numb from the cold before you could carry much back. The fire in your cave helped, but it wasn’t enough. The cold was relentless, and it drained you little by little.

One night, the wind was so fierce it howled through the cracks in your cave, whipping out your fire and leaving you in darkness.

You huddled in the corner, shivering so hard your teeth chattered, pulling the blankets tightly around you. It wasn’t enough. The cold seeped through, clawing at your small body, making your limbs feel heavy and slow.

Your stomach hurt from hunger.

Your throat burned from the dry air. 

Your fingers felt like they didn’t belong to you anymore, stiff and useless. 

You tried calling out for your mom. 

You don’t have a voice.

You don’t know how long you sat there, curled up in the darkness, your breath coming out in shaky, frozen puffs. It felt like the cold was winning, like it was going to pull you under and never let go.

But then you remembered something. Fire. You needed fire. You needed to move. You’ll die if you don’t.

With the last bit of strength you had, you forced yourself to your feet. Your legs wobbled, nearly giving out, but you stumbled to the pile of sticks you’d gathered before the storm hit. Your hands fumbled as you worked to light the fire, the flint slipping from your frozen fingers again and again.

Finally, the spark caught. The flames flickered to life, small and fragile, but enough to bring a bit of warmth back to the cave. You collapsed in front of it, too exhausted to do anything but breathe.

You didn’t sleep that night. You sat by the fire, feeding it carefully, watching as the light pushed back the dark and the warmth fought off the cold.

Winter, you learned, was terrifying. 

But you survived. Somehow, you survived.

Day 140.

You’re rummaging through a new trash bin in the corner of town, hoping to find something better than the stale bread and bruised fruit you’d grown used to. The air is still freezing, but you’ve gotten better at braving the cold. Your fire skills have improved, and you’ve started layering your clothes. Your sleeves and pant legs far too big for you but warm enough.

Then you smell something. It’s very faint but so delicious that it makes your stomach growl louder than ever. You freeze, your nose twitching as you follow the scent. It’s coming from deeper in the trash bin, buried under plastic wrappers and paper scraps. You dig frantically, ignoring the cold and the mess, until your hands touch something soft.

You pull it out carefully.

It’s warm. For once it wasn’t cold and stiff like the food you usually find. Wrapped in something papery, it feels soft and smells amazing… spicy and savory, unlike anything you’ve ever had before. You peel back the wrapper and find a long, fluffy piece of bread stuffed with something red, like meat, and covered in a strange orange sauce.

You don’t even think twice. You take a bite.

The flavor explodes in your mouth, and you let out a muffled, delighted squeal. It’s warm and spicy, with a tangy sweetness that makes your taste buds dance. 

You’ve never tasted anything this good before! Not on this planet, not even on Mobius. You eat it too fast, the heat of the spice making your nose run and your tongue tingle, but you don’t care.

When it’s gone, you’re left licking your fingers and smiling wider than you have in days.

And then, tucked just beneath the wrapper, you see something else. A stack of thin, colorful pages bound together… a comic book. You pull it out, careful not to rip the glossy cover. The artwork catches your eye immediately. Bright characters, bold lines, and action-packed scenes that make your heart race.

You don’t know what it says, but you stare at it for hours that night, turning the pages slowly, tracing your finger over the letters. You recognize some shapes from signs in the town, but the rest is a mystery. But not for long.

It starts with one word. You find a sign in town that matches a word in the comic. “Dog.” Slowly, you start matching more, sounding them out, mimicking the way the humans talk to each other when you overhear them.

You practice in the cave, repeating words over and over until they sound right. “Dog.” “Hot.” “Chili.”

“Ch-chi… Chili d-dog,” You whisper one night, your voice small and scratchy. You grin, your tail wagging rapidly behind you.

“Chili-dog. Chili-dog.”

The comics become your teachers, and you flip through them again and again, memorizing the shapes of the letters and the sounds they make. Some nights, your firelight flickers low, and your voice echoes in the cave as you practice. 

“P-pow. Ka-boom. Su… per.”

The words start making sense, and so do the stories. They’re exciting, just like the life you dream of… heroes fighting bad guys, saving the day, running fast. You devour every page, reading them over and over until you know the stories by heart.

“Heee…ro.”

You stop at a particular page. It’s of a strong looking man in a yellow suit. He had just saved a group of civilians from a burning building.

“I don’t know how to thank you!” A character from the comic says.

“You don’t have to! It’s what heroes do!” He responds.

He was a hero.

You wanted to be a hero, one day.

Day 240.

The wind roars like a monster outside your cave, louder than anything you’ve ever heard before. At first, you think it’s just another storm. You’ve dealt with rain and wind before, it’s not fun, but you’ve survived it. You think you can survive this too.

But this isn’t just a tiny storm.

The air feels different, heavier. The howling wind makes the trees outside groan and snap, and when you peek outside, you see branches flying through the air like they weigh nothing. The sky is a swirling, angry gray, and the rain doesn’t fall straight this time, it lashes sideways, stinging your face when you try to look.

You dart back into the cave, your heart pounding. The wind is seeping in through every crack and crevice, tugging at your blankets, scattering the things you’ve collected over the months. 

Your fire has already gone out, the rain soaking the wood pile you had so carefully dried.

It’s chaos.

The cave feels smaller now, as if it can’t protect you. Every gust of wind shakes the ground beneath you, and the sound of crashing trees makes your ears flatten against your head. 

Then, the water starts to rise. At first, it was merely just a trickle, pooling near the entrance of the cave. You think it’ll stop, but it doesn’t. The trickle becomes a stream, and the stream becomes a flood, creeping closer and closer to you. The cold, murky water soaks your feet, and you scramble to higher ground, but there’s nowhere else to go.

You grab your things, like the comics, the cans, the blanket. What little you had. And shove them into your backpack. It’s too much to carry, but you can’t leave it behind. You throw the bag over your shoulder and take a deep breath.

You don’t have a choice. You have to leave.

The moment you step outside, the storm hits you like a wall. The wind is so strong it almost knocks you off your feet, and the rain blinds you, soaking through your fur and making every step feel like a fight. You hold onto your bag as tightly as you can, your tiny legs carrying you as fast as they’ll go.

You didn’t think water could be so terrifying until that day.

It was the flood that taught you. 

The water rose so fast during the hurricane that it caught you off guard. One moment, you were scrambling to keep your things dry, and the next, you were swept off your feet. The icy, murky water pulled at you, dragging you under before you could even take a breath. Everything became a blur of bubbles and cold, and your small body fought desperately to reach the surface. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. All you could feel was the crushing weight of the water and the sharp sting of panic in your chest.

You couldn’t run.

No matter how hard you kicked.

Your legs wouldn’t work.

Your arms thrashed, but the current was too strong. It pulled you further and further, spinning you around until you didn’t know which way was up. For a terrifying moment, you thought this was it—that the water was going to take you, and you’d never see the surface again. But somehow, you found the strength to push off the bottom, clawing your way upward until your head broke through.

You gasped for air, choking and sputtering, as the rain pelted your face and the current tried to drag you back down. Your little hands grabbed onto something. It was a branch, maybe, or a piece of debris. And you clung to it for dear life, shaking and coughing until the water finally began to recede.

When it was over, you collapsed on the muddy ground, too weak to move, your body trembling from exhaustion and fear. From that moment on, the sight of deep water made your heart race, and the sound of rushing waves made your fur stand on end. 

You didn’t know what drowning was before that day, but now you knew it too well. 

You never wanted to feel that helpless again.

Day 300.

You’re perched on the roof of an old hardware store, hidden behind a rusted chimney, watching the humans go about their day. It’s something you do a lot, watching them, learning from them. It’s lonely, but it keeps you busy.

You’re about to leave when something unusual catches your eye. A man is running out of the corner store across the street, clutching a bag that jingles loudly as he moves. 

Behind him, a woman shouts, waving her arms. “Stop! Thief!”

Your ears perk up, and your heart starts racing. A thief? In this sleepy town? This is the most exciting thing you’ve ever seen.

But before the thief can make it to the alley, another man steps into his path. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a worn brown shirt and a look of confidence.

He doesn’t look scared, not even a little.

“Alright, buddy,” The man says, holding up a hand like he’s calming a stray dog. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

The thief doesn’t stop. He charges forward, trying to shove past, but the man moves faster than you expect. In one smooth motion, he sidesteps the thief, hooks his foot behind the guy’s ankle, and sends him sprawling to the pavement. The bag of stolen cash spills open, bills fluttering in the breeze.

You gasp, your hands gripping the edge of the roof. Who is this guy?

The woman from the store runs up, breathless, thanking him over and over as the man calmly pulls a pair of handcuffs from his belt. You learn his name. 

Tom.

“Just doing my job,” Tom says, with a warm smile. Like it was a small favor.

But to you, it’s not small at all. 

It’s amazing. He’s amazing.

You follow him after the thief is taken away, watching from the shadows as he strolls into the local diner like nothing happened. 

He’s greeted with smiles and laughter, the kind of warmth you’ve never experienced. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you see the way he carries himself, confident and relaxed.

And then he does something that seals it.

He orders a donut. A big, sugary one with sprinkles. How cool! He takes a bite, leaning against the counter with a satisfied grin. You’ve seen humans eat before, but this is different. There’s something almost magical about the way he enjoys that donut, like it’s the best thing in the world.

You grin to yourself, your tail wagging.

“Donut Lord,” You whisper. The name feels perfect, like it was made for him. 

From that day on, you can’t stop thinking about him. Donut Lord. The guy who stopped a thief without breaking a sweat, who walks around like the town is his kingdom. You don’t know if you’ll ever work up the courage to talk to him, but for now, it’s enough just to watch and dream.

Tom was a hero.

You wanted to be like Tom, one day.

10 Years Later.

Everything is dark.

“I don’t want to be indelicate here, but someone should keep the body on ice. He’s just a silly little alien. He didn’t belong here!” You’re dimly aware of the voice around you… the sound of Robotnik’s machines whirring, Maddie shouting, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Tom’s voice breaking through.

“That little alien… knew more about being human than you ever will.” Tom says. Firmly. And even in your half-conscious state, you can hear the confidence in his voice.

Just like the day you first saw him.

“His name was Sonic. This was his home. And he was my friend.”

Tom’s voice cuts through the haze like a bolt of lightning. He doesn’t have powers like you. He doesn’t have super speed or gadgets or a chance against Robotnik. And yet, he’s standing there, protecting you, refusing to back down.

Something shifts inside you. It was a flicker of warmth in the cold darkness. It’s not just about you anymore and your body wires itself to that fact. It was now about them. Tom. Maddie. Your family. They stood up for you when they didn’t have to, and now you have to stand up for them.

The flicker turns into a spark.

And then a fire.

Your eyes snap open, and the world rushes back in. 

You feel the energy surge through your body, stronger and brighter than ever before. It’s like every bit of power you’ve ever had is returning all at once, and it’s not just for you. It’s for them.

You get to your feet, lightning crackling around you, and meet Robotnik’s glare head-on. 

Tom stumbles back, surprised but relieved to see you standing again. He smiles, nodding at you. “He’s all yours.” Tom says, hope blooming in his voice.

You nod at him, determination in your eyes. 

You face the threat.

And then you run. This time, for your family.

Day 1. Home.

The living room is warm and cozy, filled with the faint smell of popcorn and the soft glow of a lamp. Maddie stands by the couch, holding a bowl of popcorn, while Tom fiddles with the TV remote. The faint hum of the opening credits of Speed plays in the background, and for once, the house feels completely at peace.

“Hurry up, Donut Lord!” You call from the couch, bouncing in place. “It’s starting!”

“Hold your horses, Speedy,” Tom replies, smirking as he presses a few buttons. “You’re the one who insisted on this movie. Again.”

“Yeah, because it’s awesome! Keanu Reeves is a legend,” you say, crossing your arms and grinning. “And it’s educational. What if we ever need to stop a runaway bus? I’m just saying, we need to be prepared.”

Maddie laughs as she sets the popcorn on the coffee table and sits beside you. “You do know this is the third time this week, right?” She teases, ruffling your quills. “You might know more about this movie than Keanu by now.”

You dodge her hand, grinning wider. “What can I say? Great taste runs in the family.”

Tom finally drops onto the couch on your other side, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, alright. Everyone comfy? No bathroom breaks this time, Sonic. Last time you came back with a stack of comic books and missed half the movie.”

“I was multitasking!” You protest, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into your mouth. “But fine, no bathroom breaks. Scout’s honor.”

Maddie shakes her head with a fond smile, and Tom hits play. The familiar opening scene fills the screen, and you sink into the couch, tail swishing lazily. It’s not like the first time you watched this movie, peeking through the window, hidden in the cold night.

Now, you’re inside.

You’re home.

The movie plays on, and the three of you share popcorn and commentary, with Tom making bad jokes, Maddie rolling her eyes at them, and you laughing way too hard. Somewhere between the second chase scene and the big explosion, you glance at them, the two humans who brought you into their world, and feel that warm, happy glow in your chest.

For a moment, you forget about Robotnik, about the battles and the running. Right now, it’s just you, Tom, and Maddie, watching your favorite movie together on the couch.

As the movie plays, you think about everything that’s happened. The battles, the narrow escapes, the life you used to live, always running, always alone. 

Running used to be your answer to everything, your way of life. 

But now, sitting here with Tom and Maddie, you realize something important. Sometimes, stopping isn’t so bad. 

You’re finally running for something instead of running away. You’re running for the people who took you in, who gave you a home and a family. 

Now, every step, every burst of speed, is about protecting them. Defending the life you’ve built together. For the first time, running feels like more than survival.

You’re finally home.