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One time, Sonic had shown up at the front door with a threadbare towel bundled in his hands.
Tom barely opened the door before the hedgehog started talking rapidfire: "Donut Lord! Okay, I know you said we can't have another pet because me and Ozzie are already 'a lot'– and by the way I resent being put in the same category as Ozzie but whatever– so anyway I know you said no more pets but I was out on a run and–"
Tom squinted, still trying to process why his son had knocked instead of using the house key stashed in his quills. And then his gaze fell to the squirming bundle in Sonic's hands.
Oh no.
He held out his hands in a 'slow down' gesture. "Whoa, whoa, hold on there, pal. What are–"
A shrill, insistent meow interrupted him, and Sonic fumbled to not get scratched as a tiny kitten emerged from the towel. Blue-furred ears flattened against his head in sheepish excitement. "Can we keep it??"
Tom ran a hand down his face.
The evening that followed had been pure chaos. Sonic set up a makeshift enclosure in the living room, complete with couch cushions and a laundry basket. Ozzie gave the new arrival a couple sniffs before wisely deciding to remove himself from the situation, waddling upstairs with the air of a dog who was officially Done With This.
Maddie, upon arriving home, had spent a solid ten minutes trying to convince Sonic that "just one night" did not actually mean "forever and ever and ever and–"
By the time the kitten was curled up in the basket, tiny body rising and falling with sleep, the blue boy had already named it Flash Junior. Because of course he had.
And in the morning, when Maddie drove off to work with the kitten safely tucked into a carrier, Sonic had stood by the door, uncharacteristically silent as he watched them disappear around the corner.
Tom had never seen him so sad. He hadn't argued. Hadn't whined. Hadn't hit them with his huge puppy eyes and dramatic my heart is breaking routine. Sonic was just quiet.
So Tom took him out for ice cream.
Sue him, okay? He couldn't handle his son looking so– well. Blue.
When there's a knock at the door around ten til midnight, Tom feels just a tiny bit of deja vu.
He sets down the match three game he'd been poking at, bones creaking vaguely as he gets up and heads towards the front door. Knuckles and Tails are both asleep already– he'd had to reassure the stoic echidna repeatedly that he'd be the first to know if the situation changed before Knux relented and let Maddie shepherd them upstairs.
The situation being that Sonic hadn't come home from his evening run.
They tried not to worry. When all three of your children were superpowered aliens who sometimes dabbled in world-saving, being a helicopter parent was kind of a moot point.
That didn't stop Tom from sitting at the kitchen counter and worrying, though. If he doesn't show up by morning we'll start looking.
A quick glance at the stairs. All quiet.
A quick check that his gun is, in fact, on his person. All good.
Tom flicks the porch light on, opens the door–
–and then his stomach drops.
Sonic. He looks like he's about to fall right over the threshold into the house, peering up at Tom with wide, guilty eyes. The reason he's so off-balance is because– Tom feels his breath catch and his ribs twinge with a ghost of remembered pain– he's trying to hold up a second hedgehog.
A hedgehog with coal black fur and bloody red streaks through it.
For a split second, Tom's back at GUN Headquarters, wearing the face and voice of a man he knew only fleetingly– a man who had apparently deeply wronged the boy now draped over his son's shoulder.
"Don't be mad," is the first thing that tumbles out of Sonic's mouth.
That rattles Tom back to reality. He's never heard Sonic sound so unsure. And "Okay, c'mon, get inside," he decides, stepping aside to let them through. If Shadow's here, then there's a decent chance GUN is also around– wasn't the black hedgehog affiliated with them somehow? No, no, he was working with Robotnik–
And that thought has him coaxing them in a little quicker before bending down to help his son carry the unconscious hedgehog. Sonic hands him off like Shadow might break apart if so much as looked at wrong– "Careful, I-I think his leg is busted–" and then follows at his father's heels as he ferries Shadow over to the couch. He looks bad. Like, really bad.
Tom catches the scent of burnt fur (burnt flesh) and ozone as he sets the hedgehog down, mindful of his quills. "What happened?"
"He fell," Sonic starts, fingers twitching with the need to take action, to do something even though he's already gotten this far. Tom listens to him ramble as he snatches a hand towel and the first aid kit from the closet. "I mean, I think he fell? There was a shooting star, but it wasn't going away, and Tails said shooting stars are space stuff that burns up in the atmosphere, so when I realized it was something else I followed it and–"
"Wait, he fell from space?"
He loves his son, but sometimes Sonic's motormouth is more of a hindrance than a help. The blue boy nods vehemently, reaching for the first aid kit himself. Shadow's lying prone on the couch, his dirt-streaked, furry face pinched with pain even while unconscious. His right foot rests at a distinctly wrong angle, and– oh boy, he's still bleeding.
Tom runs a hand through his hair and exhales noisily. Alright. This is bigger than he can handle alone, even as the sheriff of Green Hills.
He's gonna have to commit one of the worst crimes a husband can commit: waking up his wife.