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“you sure about this, egghead?” sonic asked, bouncing lightly on his heels.
robotnik didn’t answer. no, instead he just adjusted his goggles and stepped through the arched entrance of the building, the vines curling along the rusted metal almost recoiling at the sight of him. his long coat billowed in the stale wind.
“..okay,” the hedgehog muttered, backing off. “i’ll, uh… keep knuckles from punching the wrong wall again.”
“hey! i heard that!” knuckles called.
the heavy doors creaked shut behind robotnik. he was alone.
no. not alone.
the air was perfumed with something artificial—lavender, maybe. robotnik’s lip curled.
“hm. i should’ve known you’d redecorate,” he called out. “what is this? jungle meets death trap?”
“i call it ambiance,” came the smooth voice from the rafters.
robotnik didn’t look up. he didn’t even need to, for he could feel him. feel his presence like a sliver under the skin. too familiar, too smug.
stone dropped down from a shadowed ledge, landing with impossible grace, dressed in dark formalwear tailored sharp as broken glass. his sleeves were rolled up, forearms bare, the lines of his suit creased like he hadn’t bothered to care. his hair was streaked with more grey now—at the temples, near his ears—and his eyes looked older. not aged. just… done. like he’d seen too much and lost the will to flinch.
though, he froze the moment he saw the older man staring right back at him.
robotnik.
alive.
the silence stretched. thick. unreal.
“…ivo?” stone breathed, the name nearly catching in his throat. “you’re supposed to be—”
“dead?” robotnik supplied, tilting his head with something that might’ve been amusement. or a warning. “sorry to disappoint.”
silence bled back into the room, thick and slow like oil through gears.
the younger man blinked, once. stone didn’t move. didn’t blink. his jaw tensed, like he was trying to reconcile something. like the impossible had walked in wearing the face he used to dream about.
however, something flickered in his expression—grief, rage, disbelief. then it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with something razor-flat.
“guess the funeral was premature.”
“you’re not going to ask how i survived?”
“i don’t care. well, not anymore at least.”
“then why this elaborate theatre?”
stone smiled, a slow, humorless thing. he began to walk a deliberate circle around the older man, boots tapping a rhythmic echo on the ruined factory floor. he moved like a predator sizing up its prey, though there was something reverent in the way his gaze lingered—it was as if he was making sure the doctor was really there.
“because, ivo, the dead don’t come back,” he hummed, watching as robotnik flinched at the use of his first name, “unless they have something to say.”
eventually, he halted to a stop. music clicked on—tinny, distant, but unmistakable. a familiar tune whined through the static. dramatic. over-the-top. masochism tango. the irony landed with all the subtlety of a falling safe.
robotnik blinked, incredulous. “are you serious?”
stone extended a gloved hand, palm open and unwavering. “i’ve never been more serious, my dear maestro.”
the ex-agent’s voice didn’t waver, but something flickered behind his eyes.
expectation? defiance? hope?
robotnik didn’t even know anymore.
and for one suspended second, the older man genuinely considered walking away.
…
but then, he took the hand.
the contact was jarring. warm leather against colder skin. robotnik’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
“don’t say i didn’t warn you, aban.”
and then they were moving.
their bodies fell into place with alarming precision. despite everything—betrayal, abandonment, grief—they remembered.
stone led. of course he did. after all, he had always wanted to.
they swept across the floor, feet sliding against cracked concrete and tangled metal wiring. the music slithered around them, dramatic and ridiculous and too on-the-nose.
“you always hated this song,” stone murmured, dragging robotnik through a sharp pivot. “said it was beneath you.”
“because it is,” robotnik snapped, breath catching as they turned too fast. “melodramatic trash.”
“mm. so’s our history.”
a turn. a dip. robotnik’s gloved hand caught the small of stone’s back as he was lowered, their faces inches apart.
“you tried to vaporize green hills,” robotnik hissed.
“you tried to do so too, doctor. years ago,” stone grinned. “besides, you died in orbit. i was grieving.”
he yanked them both upright. they spun. robotnik caught his balance a beat too late, infuriated to realize stone still moved like a panther and he was—well—forty-two now.
“this isn’t a reconciliation,” robotnik spat, one arm slinging stone into a side-step. “you’ve made your choice.”
“oh, i have, ivo.” stone’s eyes gleamed. “i chose revenge. and i let it consume me.”
robotnik barked a laugh, humourless. “pathetic.”
the younger man pulled them into a perfect tango lunge. “is it, though? because i won. i became what you never let me be.”
“a tyrant?” the doctor sneered.
“a person.”
“…”
the music surged. they turned again, fast now, dangerously so. the floor was littered with debris, wires, old broken down badniks, but they never missed a step. two monsters with a shared rhythm.
“why now?” robotnik demanded. “you could’ve vanished. let me stay dead.”
“because i wanted you to see what i became, be it from heaven or hell.”
robotnik’s jaw clenched. “tsk. you built an empire on my grave.”
stone’s hands tightened around his. “because that grave was why i did it.”
they locked eyes. it was unbearable.
robotnik stepped forward. stone stepped back. their boots struck sparks from the floor. the speaker hissed with static.
the next lines of the song were particularly venomous.
“i ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
but much more to the touch of your whips, dear…”
“hm. how appropriate,” stone commented
though, robotnik didn’t rise to it.
instead, he spun stone out and yanked him back in, hard enough that their chests collided. “you burned the world down to avenge me. and now i’m back.”
stone didn’t blink. “too late.”
“so you’re done? with all of it?”
stone leaned close, breath hot. “i don’t feel anything anymore.”
robotnik’s face twisted almost instantly at the words.
meanwhile, stone used the pause to flip their positions—robotnik’s back slammed against a metal beam, and stone caged him there, one hand planted beside his head.
“but you, on the other hand, do,” stone whispered. “you’re still looking at me like i left.”
“you did.”
stone’s jaw tensed. “you fucking exploded, ivo. i saw you.”
robotnik didn’t speak. his breathing was ragged. his hand flexed, almost reaching for stone’s lapel—and stopped.
stone leaned in.
“i loved you,” his voice cracked. “but i’m going to burn that out with the rest of the world.”
robotnik shut his eyes.
the music reached its crescendo.
the two danced again, desperate now. no more elegance. just fury, need, grief and a beat that wouldn’t let up. they clashed like magnets, they collided like stars.
spins. pushes. a near slap. stone ducked it and grabbed robotnik by the waist, forcing the older man into a final dip that felt like a threat.
the older man’s goggles were askew by now, his lip was bleeding.
stone looked up at him, triumphant and trembling. “you should’ve stayed dead, doctor.”
robotnik stared up at him.
“well, you wanted me watching, didn’t you?”
“…”
for a moment, the music went quiet.
and then—
crash. the speaker gave out entirely, sparks flying.
silence.
stone’s chest heaved, whereas the taller man was still in his arms.
neither of them moved.
“let me go,” the doctor said quietly after a good 2 minutes.
stone, without question or reluctance, did as told.
robotnik straightened, smoothing his coat. wiping his mouth. but he didn’t look at stone.
“this ends soon,” he murmured solemnly. “you know that, right?”
“i know.”
“i won’t show mercy.”
stone’s smile was tired. “you never did.”
robotnik turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing against the broken tiles with finality.
the ex-agent stood alone in the ruin, the ghost of the tango still twitching in his limbs.
outside, sonic waited with arms crossed.
“so?” he asked.
robotnik chose to say nothing.
instead, he kept walking ahead, walking past team sonic.
but his hands—gloved, trembling, stained with old rust—curled in time with a song no one else could hear.