Chapter Text
The air was humid as his boots touched the wet asphalt. The faint scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with the distant aroma of street food and car exhaust. A cool breeze gently played with the hem of his coat, though the golden warmth of the afternoon sun made it bearable.
Robotnik exhaled sharply. His eyes flicked across the rows of worn-down buildings, their paint peeling, their windows dull. "In all places, Stone... why here of all places?" He muttered under his breath, eyes flickering to the rundown neighborhood. The houses were old, the scent of rain and rust lingering in the air as he went further and further.
It wasn’t as though he expected Stone to be living in a mansion, though, if he were being honest with himself (and he rarely was when it came to sentimentality), Stone deserved a mansion. The man had been the only reason the world still spun on its axis, had dedicated years of his life to serving him, and yet... here he was. In a place that barely passed for adequate.
Robotnik's gaze drifted to the metal staircase leading up to Stone’s apartment. Rust clung to the railings like an infection, the steps slightly uneven, worn by time and neglect.
Tch. Pathetic.
He tightened his grip on the bouquet of red roses in his hand. The thorns pricked his palm through the paper wrapping, but he barely felt it. Robotnik took a deep breath. He could turn back. Leave now and pretend this moment of weakness had never happened.
He had already defied logic by surviving the explosion, already shattered expectations by existing at all. He hadn’t expected to survive. And he certainly hadn’t expected that damn black hedgehog to save him.
Yet, here he was. Alive. And burdened with the consequences of that survival.
Robotnik should leave Stone alone. He knew that. Their last conversation had been... well, let’s call it what it was. A catastrophic, melodramatic disaster. Stone had begged not to leave him, voice tight with emotion, desperation bleeding into every word. But Robotnik, in all his brilliant arrogance, had dismissed him. Blocked him. Pushed him away like an insignificant piece of debris cluttering his path.
He ground his teeth at the memory. Stone had every right to move on. To forget about him. To build a new life, one that didn’t involve chasing after a lunatic with a god complex. But if there was one undeniable truth about Doctor Ivo Robotnik, aside from his unparalleled genius, it was this that he was the most selfish man on Earth.
And he wanted Stone back.
Even if it meant swallowing his pride. Even if it meant apologizing. Even if it meant falling to his knees, groveling like some lovesick fool. Scenarios flooded his mind in rapid succession.
In one, Stone slammed the door in his face without a word. In another, Stone’s lips parted in shock before he broke into a wide, radiant smile only to stop himself mid-step, hesitating, unsure if he should even want this reunion.
In the third, Stone’s eyes darkened, his voice sharp with fury. His hand would fly across Robotnik’s face in a perfectly executed slap, just like those dramatic moments in the Spanish telenovelas he enjoyed watching. Where Gabriella yells at Juan for faking his death after his stepmother's wedding episode and Juan looks at her and takes her hand and then-
...Okay, that last one was more of a fantasy than an expectation, but still. He had to be prepared for any reaction. Robotnik took another deep breath, steeling himself. His fingers flexed around the bouquet. Then, without allowing himself a second more of hesitation, he stepped onto the first rusted stair.
And knocked on the door.
Nothing happened.
Robotnik stood still for a moment, then knocked again, harder this time. The hollow sound echoed through the apartment, but still, there was no answer.
"Stone?" His voice carried a rare note of uncertainty. He rapped his knuckles against the door one more time, his patience thinning. "Come on, Stone. My calculations put you at 87% likely to be home."
Silence.
With an irritated sigh, Robotnik reached for the doorknob, fully expecting resistance. But to his surprise, it turned effortlessly beneath his fingers. Unlocked? That wasn’t like Stone.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of stale air mixed with something faintly sour. The place was a mess. Dishes stacked precariously in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the table, and an empty takeout container perched on the edge of the couch like it had been abandoned mid-meal. Clothes strewn across furniture, and he can swear he sees some empty glass bottles on the corners of this room.
Robotnik grimaced. Not that he had any room to judge but this? This wasn’t Stone.
Stone liked things tidy. He polished everything twice. His suits were always neatly pressed, his workspace meticulously organized. He once spent forty-five minutes cleaning a single smudge off Robotnik’s goggles. So to see his home in this state?
It was unsettling.
His eyes flickered toward a closed door. He barely had time to consider whether or not to knock when he heard the faint click of a lock turning. The bathroom door creaked open. And there he was.
"Stone?" Robotnik blinked, taking in the sight before him.
Stone looked... rough. His normally neat hair was an unkempt mess, slightly longer than it should have been, sticking up in places like he hadn't bothered to comb it. His beard, usually trimmed with precision, was now uneven, patchy as though he had started maintaining it and given up halfway through.
He wore an oversized T-shirt that reached his knees, old sweatpants, and dear Chaos slippers that looked like they saw better days. Stone barely glanced at him before trudging past, moving like a man half-awake.
Robotnik opened his arms with a dramatic flourish, his voice light. "Hey, I'm back." He gave his hands a little shake for emphasis. No reaction.
Stone didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Instead, he walked past as if Robotnik was nothing more than air in the room. He goes straight to the fridge. Robotnik's brow furrowed.
Out of all the scenarios he ran through, this wasn’t one of them.
Stone exhaled heavily, running a hand over his face, then opened the fridge. He stared at its contents or lack thereof for a few seconds before shutting it again with the same dull, listless energy. Leaning against the wall, Robotnik folded his arms, watching.
"Hey..." He cocked his head. "Don't tell me you're ignoring me?"
Silence.
Stone moved to the counter, grabbing an empty glass that looked too dirty for the normal person to want to drink in it. He filled it with water, took a sip, and placed it down with a quiet clink.
Robotnik’s fingers twitched. His irritation flared hotter, not out of impatience, but something closer to discomfort. Stone wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even reacting.
"Hey!" Robotnik took a step forward, impulse pushing him to grab Stone’s shoulder, to shake him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. But his hand froze mid-air. Instead, he turned and placed bouquet of roses on the table with an unceremonious thud.
The table was dirty and sticky with something that looked suspiciously like spilled coffee but Robotnik ignored it. Stone still hadn’t said a word.
The crack of Stone’s spine echoed through the quiet apartment as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. His fingers moved to the stack of cards on the table, absentmindedly shuffling them as if this mundane action could ground him in reality.
Robotnik watched him, head tilted slightly, as if trying to decipher an impossibly complex puzzle. His gaze flickered to the cluttered table, where unopened letters lay scattered haphazardly. One stood out among the rest, bold, red letters stamped across the front. Robotnik squinted.
Past Due Notice.
"Hey, Stone." He drawled, picking up the letter and waving it slightly. "You have unpaid rent, you know that?" He expected some kind of reaction. Maybe a twitch of the eye, an annoyed sigh, a sarcastic comment. Something.
But still nothing.
Stone ignored him, moving with a sluggishness. He began opening cabinets, one after the other. By the time he reached the fifth cabinet, he let out a small exhale and gave up. Whatever he was searching for, he either couldn’t find it or didn’t have the energy to keep looking. Instead, he turned toward the bathrobe hanging near the door.
Robotnik stepped aside, watching as Stone pulled it on over his baggy clothes. And then, without a word, he opened the door.
"Stone, where are you going?" Stone didn’t answer. Didn’t even pause. He just walked out. Robotnik blinked. "STONE, WAIT FOR ME!" He lunged for the handle but the second his fingers curled around it, he felt resistance. The door wouldn’t budge. Robotnik stared at it, dumbfounded. Then his eye twitched.
"Oh, so now you want to lock the door?!" He slammed his fist against it in frustration before storming over to the dirty window. He squinted through the grime, barely making out Stone’s retreating form down the street.
"Stone!" He barked again. "You’re only in your pajamas! At least have some decency and change into something more presentable!" No response. Stone just kept walking. Just like that.
Like Robotnik wasn’t even there.
Robotnik exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his hands behind his back before he punched something. This is fine, he told himself. This is fine.
His gaze drifted around the apartment once more. The entire space consisted of a single large room, with only two doors. One leading to a bathroom, the other most likely the bedroom. He rubbed his forehead, inhaling sharply.
"Ughhhhh…" His frustration was mounting, but so was his curiosity. Robotnik strolled toward the cabinets, opening one at random. Empty. He opened another. Also empty. He tried a third, and this time, he was greeted by a dead spider curled up in the corner like some pathetic remnant of life that had given up a long time ago.
"Lovely." He clicked his tongue and shut the cabinet, his mind already spinning. "Probably went shopping." He muttered, though something about that didn’t sit right. Still, Robotnik began running numbers in his head.
The nearest store was about a 15 minute drive from here. If Stone was walking, that added another 15, maybe 30 depending on his pace. And that was just getting there. He’d still have to shop. Then come back. "An hour or two, how wonderful," Robotnik mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples.
He had two hour to figure out what the hell was going on with his agent. And more importantly, why Stone was acting like he didn’t exist.
With a heavy sigh, Robotnik bent down and grabbed the remote from where it lay discarded on the floor. He clicked the button experimentally. The TV flickered to life with a static hum.
"At least something in this place still works." He muttered, tossing the remote onto the couch before collapsing into it himself. The worn-out cushions let out a tired groan beneath his weight, and a few stray papers and wrappers tumbled to the floor. Robotnik exhaled and leaned back. His gaze drifted across the room absentmindedly until something caught his eye.
A corner of an envelope, peeking out from between the couch cushions. Curious, he reached down and pulled it free. It was a crumpled letter, its edges slightly bent, as if it had been stuffed there hastily. He was about to discard it when the words at the top made him pause.
"For my dear Doctor Ivo Robotnik."
Robotnik blinked. Slowly, his fingers tightened around the paper. He pulled out another envelope. The same words. Another. And another. A whole handful of letters, buried in the couch like forgotten secrets.
This was very interesting.
Stone had been writing to him. Or, at the very least, trying to. He unfolded the first letter, the handwriting shaky, uneven. The ink smeared in some places, like the words had been written with a trembling hand or one that wasn’t entirely sober.
Robotnik frowned slightly but continued reading under his breath. "You were the only person who gave me a reason to live... I fell in love with you at first sight during the conference in Washington... your eyes were-"
Oh.
Robotnik’s breath hitched. A faint blush dusted his cheeks. He flipped to another letter. And another. Every single one was a love letter. Some were barely finished, abandoned halfway through like Stone had lost his nerve.
Others were filled with so many words that they overlapped, as if his thoughts had spilled out faster than his hand could write. A few were scrawled in different languages. French, Spanish, even Latin all of which Robotnik understood perfectly.
The sheer volume of them was overwhelming. Robotnik swallowed, skimming through more. Some were raw, unfiltered confessions. Others were poetic, almost painfully romantic. Then he reached one that described their time in Mexico. He stopped.
That was enough.
Carefully, he stacked the letters back together, staring down at them like they might explode in his hands. "I always knew you were a dramatic romantic, but this?" He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. And yet... something about it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
It wasn’t that he had done anything wrong, technically, these were his letters, addressed to him, after all. But as he sat there, the papers resting in his lap, a strange sensation settled in his stomach. These were private.
Stone had never meant for him to see them.
Robotnik exhaled sharply and placed the letters back between the cushions, exactly where he found them. For the first time since stepping into this apartment, he felt like an intruder.
His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall. Somehow, against all odds, it was still ticking. Stone had been gone for almost an hour.
With an irritated sigh, Robotnik picked up the remote again, mindlessly flipping through channels. The static hum of the TV filled the empty apartment, but nothing held his attention. His thoughts kept circling back to Stone. He should be back soon.
And then… then they would talk.
Robotnik didn’t know how yet. He had run countless simulations in his mind. Variations of apologies, sarcastic remarks, maybe even the occasional dramatic monologue but none of them felt right.
Then the first hour passed. Then the second. Then the third.
Outside, the sky darkened. The once warm glow of the setting sun had been replaced by the dim, flickering streetlights. Robotnik had given up on sitting still. He paced the apartment, arms crossed behind his back, his sharp mind buzzing with frustration.
He could leave if he wanted to. Breaking down the door? Easy. Crawling out the window? Child’s play. But-ugh…. he didn’t want to destroy anything that Stone might actually care about. As much as he hated to admit it, a small, nagging part of him wanted to do this the right way.
Then, finally-
The sound of keys jingling outside. A slow, clumsy turn of the lock. And then the door creaked open. Robotnik spun around. "Stone!"
The relief of seeing him alive and breathing was immediately overshadowed by how he looked. Stone stepped inside with uneven, sluggish movements, barely bothering to push the door shut behind him. His hair was messier than before, his eyes unfocused, red-rimmed. And in his hand a plastic bag.
The bottles inside clinked together as he walked. Robotnik’s stomach twisted. "How long did I have to wait for you?!" His voice sharpened. "You should have been back an hour ago!" Stone didn’t even look at him.
He walked past Robotnik as if he weren’t even there, heading straight for the counter. Without hesitation, he reached into the bag, pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a deep swig straight from it.
"Really, Stone?" Robotnik scoffed, tilting his head slightly. "That’s your grand plan? Drown yourself in alcohol?" Still, nothing. Robotnik clenched his jaw.
Enough was enough.
He stepped forward and reached for Stone’s wrist, gripping it firmly before he could take another sip. "Stone!" The agent yanked his arm away sharply. "You're not him." The words were slurred, heavy with something beyond just alcohol.
Robotnik froze. His fingers twitched at his side. "What did you just say?" Stone hiccupped, swaying slightly on his feet. "You're not real." He muttered, barely above a whisper. Robotnik’s eyes widened. Suddenly, it made sense. That’s why he’s been ignoring me…
Stone thought he was a hallucination.
For a brief moment, Robotnik didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose. "Oh, for the love of-" He snatched the bottle from Stone’s hand before he could take another sip. "Enough. Are you trying to poison yourself? How many bottles have you had?" Stone blinked at him sluggishly. "What...?"
"How many, Stone?" Robotnik pressed, gripping the bottle tightly. But Stone just shrugged, swaying on his feet. "Does it matter?"
Yes. It does.
Stone reached for another bottle in the bag, but Robotnik was faster, swiping it away before Stone’s fingers could even brush against the glass. "That’s it." Robotnik’s patience had officially worn thin.
Stone barely had time to blink before his knees wobbled, sending him stumbling forward. He might have hit the floor if not for a last-second grip on the counter. "Stone!" Robotnik hissed, swiftly moving in.
With one sharp tug, he steadied his agent, though he nearly gagged at the overpowering stench of alcohol, sweat, and sheer neglect clinging to him. Robotnik wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you washed up?"
Stone’s response was an eloquent "Ughhh..." As he sagged against Robotnik like a dead weight. Robotnik rolled his eyes. "That’s not an answer, agent." Stone still said nothing. "Okay. This is actually happening." Robotnik muttered under his breath as he tightened his grip, maneuvering them toward the bathroom.
Stone barely reacted.
That was the part that annoyed Robotnik the most. Not the drinking. Not the stench. Not the mess of an apartment. It was this the dull, lifeless silence from a man who had once laughed at his worst jokes, humored his insanity, and, apparently, written embarrassingly sappy love letters about him.
"Maybe this will clear your head." Robotnik mumbled, shoving the bathroom door open with his shoulder. The bathroom was just as much of a disaster as the rest of the apartment. Towels thrown haphazardly over the sink, an empty soap bottle lying sideways on the counter, and was that toothpaste smeared on the mirror?
With more effort than he wanted to admit, he yanked the bathrobe off Stone and unceremoniously shoved him into the tub before turning on the shower. A sharp blast of cold water sprayed over Stone. That got a reaction.
"W-whoa, wait-!" Stone flinched, eyes wide as the shock rippled through his dazed state. "Oh, right," Robotnik muttered. "Warm water. Got it." Adjusting the temperature, he watched as Stone blinked sluggishly, barely processing what was happening. His soaked shirt clung to him uncomfortably, fabric sagging over his shoulders.
"Stone. Arms," Robotnik ordered. To his relief, Stone obeyed though it seemed more out of muscle memory than conscious awareness. Robotnik peeled the wet shirt off and threw it aside. Then came the pants.
Robotnik hesitated. His fingers hovered over the damp fabric. It shouldn’t be weird. Stone had seen him naked plenty of times. It wasn’t like Robotnik cared about modesty, he was a man of science, after all.
But he had never seen Stone naked before.
The thought sent an unfamiliar heat crawling up the back of his neck. This is ridiculous, he scolded himself. It’s just anatomy. Just a human body. Stop making it weird. Just get it over with. With a sharp exhale, Robotnik swiftly yanked the wet sweatpants down and tossed them onto the growing pile of soaked clothes.
"Okay, let’s make this quick." He muttered.
"Doctor?" The quiet mumble made Robotnik freeze. Stone’s voice was soft, sluggish. He had woken up a little but his pupils were still unfocused, his limbs too loose, his expression hazy with drunken exhaustion.
Robotnik sighed. "Don’t make this more awkward than it already is, Stone." Stone said nothing as Robotnik grabbed the soap, lathered his hands, and started scrubbing the grime out of his agent’s hair.
Stone let out a slow exhale. "This... feels nice..." He mumbled, closing his eyes. Robotnik paused.He didn’t like how that made him feel. There was something too gentle about it. Too… intimate.
So he ignored it. Focused on getting the job done. A few minutes later, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel. "Alright, let’s get you to bed. Hopefully, when you wake up, you’ll be a lot more sober."
Draping the towel over Stone’s shoulders, he hoisted him up and led him out of the bathroom. Guiding Stone into the bedroom was easier said than done. The man was still sluggish, barely conscious, and tripped over his own feet more than once. Robotnik gritted his teeth as he pushed open the bedroom door.
As expected, the bedroom was a mess.
Piles of clothes, clean or dirty, he couldn’t tell, were scattered across the floor. Empty food containers sat abandoned on the nightstand, some with half-eaten meals left to rot. The blankets were twisted in a tangled mess on the bed.
Robotnik sighed. "You’ve really let yourself go, haven’t you?" He muttered under his breath. Stone didn’t respond. He was barely keeping his eyes open as Robotnik carefully lowered him onto the bed. For a moment, Robotnik just looked at him.
This wasn’t the Agent Stone he knew. The perfectly polished, always efficient, ever loyal right-hand man.
This was someone broken.
He clenched his fists. Robotnik carefully adjusted the pillows, lifting Stone’s head just enough to slide them under him. Stone barely reacted, only letting out a small, tired sigh as he sank into the softness.
Then he grabbed the blanket, giving it a small shake before draping it over Stone. The fabric pooled gently around his shoulders, and for a moment, Robotnik hesitated. He reached out instinctively fixing the edge of the blanket, tucking it around Stone’s sides like if Stone was made of pure glass.
He lingered for a second longer, his gaze tracing over Stone’s face softer, somehow, in unconsciousness. The lines of exhaustion that had been carved into his features all day looked less severe. But that didn’t erase what Robotnik had seen.
The dark circles under his eyes. The uneven stubble. The unmistakable weight of defeat clinging to him. Stone had always been put together. Always polished, always composed. The man who never lost his cool even when Robotnik ranted for hours about the stupidity of the world.
Now?
Now he looked like someone who had nothing left.
Robotnik swallowed the strange tightness in his throat and stepped back. Slowly, he turned and slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar in case Stone woke up. Standing in the dimly lit apartment, Robotnik let out a long, slow breath and straightened his back. His gaze drifted to the table, where the bouquet of roses still sat. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the petals, casting a faint, silvery glow over them.
For a moment, he just stared at them. They were supposed to be a gift. A grand, triumphant gesture upon his return.
But Stone had barely even noticed them.
With a quiet scoff to himself, Robotnik turned away, grabbing the half-empty bottle of alcohol Stone had been drinking from. He carried it to the sink and, without hesitation, tipped it over, pouring the remaining liquid down the drain. The bitter scent of liquor filled the air for a moment before being washed away with cold water.
Then, without really thinking about it, he filled the now empty bottle with water and carefully placed the bouquet inside. It wasn’t the finest vase. But it would do.
With that settled, he took one last glance at the apartment before sighing and dropping onto the couch. The second he hit the cushions, he regretted it. The springs creaked. The lumpy fabric smelled faintly of dust and something old. But he was too tired to care.
He let his head fall back against the armrest, eyes flicking toward the cracked ceiling. The patterns in the plaster swirled into strange, distorted shapes, and for a while, Robotnik simply stared. He should sleep.
He wanted to sleep.
But no matter how still he lay, his mind wouldn’t stop. Loud thoughts twisted and curled inside his head, pressing against his skull like an unbearable weight.
You did this to him.
Robotnik squeezed his eyes shut.
You destroyed the only person who ever loved you.
His hands clenched into fists.
You abandoned him. Just like everyone abandoned you.
His breath hitched, and before he realized it, something warm and wet was trailing down his face. He wiped at his eyes, scowling as if he could physically erase the evidence of weakness.
No.
He wouldn’t let his thoughts take over.
Not tonight.
Turning onto his side, he curled in on himself, pulling his knees up slightly in an instinctive attempt to block out the noise in his own head. Instead, he focused.
On the faint hum of the refrigerator. The distant ticking of a clock. The muffled sounds of traffic far beyond these walls and-
Stone’s breathing.
Slow. Steady. Soft. For some reason, it was that sound that finally allowed Robotnik to close his eyes. And, after what felt like an eternity, sleep finally took him.