Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stone had stumbled, ghost-like, through the aftermath of the crash. He had spent the past few days in limbo, hoping for something to pull him out of it. Either Robotnik was going to live, or he wasn't. There was nothing he could do but wait, and it was the waiting that got to him. He was caught halfway between grief and elation; he couldn't feel either of them fully, so he just ached. Everything ached. For the first day after the crash, he'd had a headache that made him nauseous when he moved. It was a dull pain now, but it lingered. 

Stone considered himself lucky. He was bruised practically everywhere, and he had a cut near his right eye that bled so heavily that he had needed to peel his stolen uniform's headgear off, but he hadn't broken anything.

Robotnik was still unconscious. He was propped up in bed with cushions against his back and his broken leg elevated. He looked smaller, somehow. There were deep circles under his eyes. His right limbs were both in casts. He had bandages wrapped around his wounds, as well as a smaller one on his forearm where he'd had a blood transfusion. Tubes flowed in and out of him like wires. He had two in his nose and an IV in his left hand. Another poked into his chest and led to a machine that aided his breathing after a broken rib turned inwards and stabbed him in the lung. He looked like a pinned moth.

"I hate hospitals," he said, quietly. He hated seeing him like this. They'd told him talking might help him, but he was struggling to think of anything to talk about. He just wanted to hear Robotnik's voice again. "We're supposed to be inconspicuous but we're—it's all too bright."

At least they weren't in Green Hills. Their minuscule hospital was useless, so they'd ended up in the nearest bigger town. A nurse had explained his injuries after Robotnik got out of the operating room. She pronounced each word with a sticky sympathy that made Stone feel like he needed to wash his hands. He was on death's door when you brought him in, she told him.

I know, he'd said.

When he dug him out of the rubble, he was barely breathing. Stone had cradled him close and let his head rest against his shoulder. He looked almost peaceful. It would have been like he was sleeping if not for the nauseating, twisted angles of his right limbs and the blood that soaked through him.

They'd cut off most of his bloodied clothes, but Stone had kept the control gloves on him. He had them in the inside pocket of his jacket. His fingers flexed with the instinct to reach for Robotnik's ungloved hand. He wanted to hold it in both of his with two fingers against his wrist to feel the pulse under the delicate skin there. He folded his hands in his lap and dug his fingernails in.

"At least it's not the café. I liked it there, and I built the lab exactly as you instructed, sir, but the customers. Donut and Bagel were there every week, sometimes every morning. For eight months. I was seriously considering poison."

He paused. It hadn't sunk in how long it'd been until he said it out loud. He had gone to bed the night Robotnik disappeared under the assumption that he would be back in the morning. He wasn't. He got a call to tell him he was being reassigned, and he had to call three different departments to get a straight answer as to why.

Reassigned, he thought. They told him they were happy to forget the whole ordeal. As if he wouldn't follow Robotnik anywhere he wanted to go. His few roots to the planet were sunk into Robotnik's nerve system. They curled around his spinal cord until finding where he ended and Stone began was impossible; he was his agent. They still expected him to put in two weeks' notice.

"You can't disappear for months, come back, then die." His voice came out strained. "You must have stories. So come tell me."

He waited.

Nothing.

He rubbed his temples.

"I want to go home," he admitted. It was the kind of nonsense Robotnik would've snapped at him for if he was conscious.

The worst part was that he couldn't. They didn't have anywhere else to go. Even if they did, the idea of staying in one place for too long made him itchy.

He let the realisation settle.

That was that, then. He could either sit around and do nothing, or he could find them somewhere to go.

He took a cab into Green Hills. He asked the driver to stop on an incline just outside of town. He took out his binoculars and pointed them at the Main Street. The Mean Bean was, as he expected, guarded. Mostly by bored looking G.U.N. agents, but there were a few civilians hanging around and pointing.

He had moved houses so many times that it hardly mattered. He would get used to living somewhere, decorate it how he liked, pack it back up and go. It was just the nature of his life. The real trouble was that all of Robotnik's tech that he'd stored there was already in G.U.N.'s clutches.

That only left the storage shed he rented on the edge of town. The shed, the largest one he could find, had housed the crab mech he and Robotnik had started working on before his disappearance. Stone had spent his weekends finishing it and he'd only just gotten it into fully working order. He already knew it was going to be empty. He'd checked the tracker on the control gloves before he came. His tools and motorcycle had been left behind, though, and he wanted to pick them up. He wondered which of the curtain-twitching locals had tipped the PD off. Maybe they had always known he frequented the place. It was hard not to feel stalked in a town of a few hundred.

His gaze fell on a Badnik laying damaged on the ground. His heart clenched like he was seeing a corpse. He walked over to it slowly. He knelt down and ran a hand over it. Its hull was damaged. It had cracks splintering out from a bullet wound.

"Did you startle someone?" he whispered. Affection crept into his voice.

He picked up the Badnik and took it over to a ransacked workbench. He put it down on its surface and grabbed a screwdriver from the floor. First: fix the Badnik. Second: sneak a crab the size of a house right out from under G.U.N.'s nose. Easy.

The Crab's tracker showed that it was stored in a warehouse owned by G.U.N on the outskirts of Great Falls. He took the repaired Badnik when he rode off to pay them a visit. By the time he arrived, it was dark. He walked his motorcycle away from the road and hid it near the river he planned to take the mech so that he could pick it up later. 

He stopped by a tree and called the hospital to ask how Robotnik was doing. No worse, they told him, but no better, either. Come on. Please be alright. His heart's thumps sang harmony with his headache. He took a deep breath and climbed to the top of the hill overlooking the city.

Great Falls stood under a sickly halo of light pollution. The warehouse was one of the tallest man-made fixtures of the landscape. It was the size of an aircraft hangar. On the exterior it looked like an ordinary, albeit large warehouse: it was all grey metal walls, graffiti and sliding doors. It was surrounded by high, electrified metal fences. There were two guards posted at the gates.

He started off down the hill, Badnik hovering at his side, and kept to the shadows beyond the reach of the streetlights. He pressed two fingers together on his glove. The Badnik jammed the signals of the cameras that peered from the walls. He had to hope nobody watched the feed too closely.

With the cameras off, he sent the Badnik to knock the guards out. It grabbed them both by the heads like bowling balls and knocked them together. They collapsed in a heap. Stone approached the gate, dug around in one of their pockets for the remote, and stepped over their bodies like they weren't there. He opened the gate and stepped through.

There was a smaller door for human entry near the much larger warehouse door. Next to it was a keypad lock with a screen. The Badnik shone a UV light onto it. The smudges glowed. There were three numbers that were clearly used day in and day out. Was it still Walter's birth year? He tried it: 1951. The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. He blinked against the onslaught of white light.

He stepped inside and looked around as best he could. Lab was the only word for it. The interior was entirely white, with sleek walls and a sterile, chemical smell. Shelves surrounded him and made paths through the warehouse. They were stocked with boxes and bits of deactivated tech. They all pointed towards the open space at the centre of the warehouse. In the space there was a circular tank that went halfway to the roof. It was a monument of glass. It was filled with water like an aquarium. Floating inside it, with its limbs drooped, was the Crab. Its eye was deactivated. With the giant red light off, it looked like it was sleeping. It gave him a pang to see it trapped.

Stone started to approach it. His footsteps echoed uncomfortably loud beneath the cathedral ceilings. He passed a row of Badniks resting on a shelf. He clicked his pointer finger into the button on his palm. They activated one by one as he walked past them until he had an audience of red eyes.

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. He reached out and brushed a careful hand across the glass. It was cold.

He remembered the day Robotnik first showed him the schematics vividly. He needed, he'd said, an all terrain private jet-boat-tank. It was the latest in a series of plans related to his ambitions and Stone thought it was stunning. And it was, unbelievably, built for two. Stone already knew that he was tangled up in his orbit like a lone asteroid, but Robotnik made room for him to stay there. He wanted the throne and a space next to it for Stone to stand.

God, Stone had wanted it, too.

He had a small army of Badniks floating behind him. There was a ladder leading up to the top of the tank. He climbed it and they followed him. He peered in. He clicked his gloves and the Crab shuddered. It opened its eye. Red light poured into the tank and out onto the floor. It rippled in eerie patterns. It pushed itself up with all of its legs and floated at the top of the tank. The movement pushed some water out of the tank and it ran down the sides. It dangled its claws over the side like an excited puppy greeting its owner at the door. He patted one of them.

He opened the door and climbed inside. All he had to do was sneak out, which was admittedly easier said than done.

He sat in the driver's chair and started to ease the Crab out of the tank. The Badniks flocked around him.

"Let's get you back where you belong." He kept one hand on the console's controls and reached the other up to the screen to start a playlist.

A moment later, an alarm blared under the riff of Life During Wartime. Stone tensed. He looked outside and found a guard by the door looking baffled. Damn it. There must have been another set of guards. They stared at each other in a stupor for a moment.

They snapped out of it at the same time. The guard fired a gun at him uselessly. It pinged off the shell. The Crab lifted its arm and brought it down on the glass, heavily. It cracked. Another hit. It shattered. The wave crested through the lab with an ear splitting sound like a roll of thunder. Stone's stomach lurched like he drove down a hill too quickly. He could ride the wave to the door and be out of there. Electricity crackled as circuits shorted. It tripped the safety switches. The lights shut off and they plunged into the dark. The alarm stopped, but Stone's music still played.

Then a hefty thunk. The Crab stumbled. Stone took a moment to work out what he was looking at. The net, massive and heavy, covered the view out and left a dark grid across his already impeded vision. The Crab fell and slid across the floor on the last of the wave. The impact sent more waves rippling out from where the mech lay on its stomach, pinned under the weight of the net. As it settled it left a few inches of water standing across the entire warehouse.

The mech threshed as Stone tried to free them. Water splashed around them. Another guard had joined them. More bullets pinged off the side of the hull.

The first guard grabbed an axe from near a sign reading BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. She screeched a war cry and ran up to the Crab's leg. She lifted her arms back and came down on the leg, hard. An alert flashed up on the screen. The leg was still functioning, but the system warned him to stop whatever he was doing. She wound up to another attack and came down on the leg again. The alert was more insistent this time.

Stone managed to maneuver a claw underneath the net. The Crab closed its claw and grabbed the net. He gripped the other side and threw it off like tossing aside a blanket on a hot night. The guards both fled. The mech stood slowly. Water sloughed off of its hull. It stumbled again when its damaged leg buckled. Stone hissed through his teeth in sympathy and shifted its weight. It righted itself and balanced on its remaining legs.

The guard with the axe ran at him again. He urged the Crab forward and it scuttled off before she could reach him. It stuck a claw through the massive sliding door to act as a handle. There was an awful scrape as it flung it open and went through.

"Change your passwords!" he yelled, towards the doorway. Not that anyone could hear him, but he thought it was worth mentioning. He saluted them with a grin.

The night engulfed them. The Crab leapt over the electric fence like it was nothing and he steered it onto the road.

"Good work," he told it, patting its console.

The Badnik that he'd found broken looked at him. He blinked.

"You did a good job, too," he told it.

He brought up a map on the screen and routed them towards the nearest river at full speed. The river branched off away from the road and the warehouse shrank away.

He was safe, for now. He leaned back in the chair. His mind wandered off. He had some errands he wanted to run before he went back: he needed a coffee, and a bouquet of red and white flowers for Robotnik's room. Maybe a Get well soon! card.

When Stone opened his eyes, it was morning. He must have fallen asleep in the chair at his bedside. His neck sent bolts of pain up and down his spine. He tipped his head back and hissed when something clicked audibly. He hadn't slept in an actual bed since before the crash.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus and for him to realise the obvious.

Robotnik was watching him.

He cheek was against the pillow. He looked exhausted, but his eyes had the same deep, searching gaze they always did, like he was examining Stone down to his intestines. Stone stared back. It was so dreamlike that he had to check. He glanced up at the patient monitor. It showed that his heart had sped up by a few beats now that he was awake. He watched it and waited for the numbers to melt or jump. They didn't. Everything was so tangible: the chatter outside his room, the slightly too cold air and the way the sun caught the hairs on Robotnik's exposed arm.

"Doctor?" he whispered.

No response. Stone recollected himself.

"You had a crash. I had to take you to hospital. You've been out for a few days. Please don't try to move too much. You have some serious injuries." He could fill him in more later. "How do you feel?"

Robotnik huffed. He managed something that sounded like agent. He lifted his left arm slightly and gestured him closer. Stone leaned toward him until their noses were almost touching.

"Like shit," he croaked. His voice was barely audible.

He finally let himself believe that he was going to live. Something that had been clogged in his chest melted into warmth and flowed through him, soft and lovely. He wanted to cry.

"You're alive."

Robotnik started to say something, but he turned away and coughed, thickly. He took a long, shuddering breath and laid a hand over his ribs. Stone's own ribs clenched.

"Don't overwork your brain, Einstein," he managed. "It's bad for concussion."

"Did the nurse tell you about that?" When did he first come to? Overnight?

"Educated guess."

"Ah. Yes."

That made more sense. He couldn't remember when he lost consciousness. One moment he was awake, surrounded by green lightning and the magnetic pull of Robotnik. The next, it was dark and he could barely breathe. Like a blink.

"What do you remember?" asked Stone.

Robotnik considered this for a moment. He let his cheek rest on the pillow again.

"Godhood, a Super Saiyan rat, and then," he motioned a puff of dust, "woosh. Nothing."

"The—Goku? What?"

"Did you miss that? They took the Emerald. Sonic went Super Saiyan and left me like this."

"Oh." Stone blinked. "I was out for a while."

He could fill in the blanks from there, though. Robotnik hummed. His gaze shifted to the side of Stone's head.

"Another scar."

Stone touched the bandage over his cut. "Presumably, yes."

Robotnik glared at it like it had wronged him personally. He used to think that he was angry with him for being stupid enough to get injured. A while back he realised it was something—not caring, exactly, but closer to how he felt when someone scratched a Badnik. Nobody injured one of his machines but him; nobody else took them apart at the joints. He wanted him in working order.

And he was, somehow. Both of them were, though a little worse for wear. He could almost believe it was going to be alright.

Chapter Text

Stone had never kicked the habit of waking up early, no matter how late he slept. It was going to be one of those mornings. The first night in a new room was always strange. There was an emptiness to it, like the room was waiting for the weight of memories, or like he'd woken up in a hotel. He pulled his blankets up further until just his nose was sticking out. He rolled over, quilt rustling, and looked out the porthole above his bunk. The Crab's bunk beds were set into an alcove in the bedroom wall like a submarine's quarters, only more spacious.

It hadn't quite sunk in that this was theirs. They were living together. They hadn't really talked about it. The nurse had said he would need a carer if he lived alone. Stone, being the only one whose presence Robotnik could even somewhat tolerate, offered. That was that.

They were beneath the Mississippi River, and en route to the Gulf of Mexico. There were a few small, curious fish just outside. Their scales glimmered in the pale early morning. The usual red lights were off, and the sunlight that rippled in tinted the room a soft green. The engines hummed near his head, quietly, just loud enough to cover the ring of his tinnitus. He wondered if he could go back to sleep. He usually couldn't, but he was so tired. He was up half the night thinking, and slipping in and out of dreams. He closed his eyes and stretched out. His feet kicked against metal. He gasped. He sat up, startled, and found a Badnik that had apparently settled at the end of his bed. His kick had activated it. They stared at each other wearily.

He stretched his arms above his head and his bones cracked as they rearranged themselves into what he hoped was the correct position.

"Alright," he whispered, "I'm up."

He climbed down from his bunk and left the room as quietly as he could to make breakfast for himself. He wanted pancakes; quick and easy, but it felt luxurious compared to the hospital cafeteria. It wasn't long before he had a jug of pancake mix next to the stove. He hesitated in front of it. Knowing Robotnik, he'd managed to install a flamethrower in it somewhere. He was pretty sure he'd remember the flamethrower button, but his head was still a bit hazy.

He had two pancakes cooking when an alert showed on the screen in front of him. He went over to it. He checked the Crab's internals. Damn it. Its leg was acting up again. He hadn't had a chance to repair it, and it had another seven legs to hold it up, so it had been pretty low on his list of priorities. They were surrounded by woodland, and it was near deserted, but there weren't any clearings near enough to the riverbank to climb onto. He could prolong their next stop for gas to fix it, but he wanted to get out of America as soon as he could. He looked at the map he'd drawn up for their route and went over the math in his head.

"Hang in there, okay? I'll get you fixed up soon."

The smell of something burning pulled him back into himself. He looked around. A plume of smoke rose from the charred pancakes.

"Shit."

He turned off the stove and stuck a lid over them to try and contain it. The air was hazy like morning fog. The fire alarm started up after a few seconds. He grabbed a dish towel on instinct, but fanning it wouldn't do anything. He couldn't even open a window. He shoved the towel in his back pocket, stuck the lid on the pancakes, and turned off the stove. He ran to the console and took the Crab off autopilot.

They breached the surface and Stone hit the automatic controls for the windows. The hidden portholes opened up to let the morning sunlight in. Some of the haze cleared in an instant. Stone ran over to the stove and picked up the frying pan. He went to the nearest window and held the pan out before taking off the lid. The offending pancakes and their pent up smoke drifted away on the breeze. The alarm silenced itself.

He sighed and flipped it upside down. He expected the pancakes to fall away into the water. They did not. He waited. They still didn't.

"Do the laws of gravity mean nothing to you?"

He had to grab a spatula and scrape at them until they finally peeled away. A fish nibbled at one. It swam off. He found himself irrationally offended.

He turned back inside. There was no way Robotnik had managed to sleep through that. He prepared their coffees and managed to cook his breakfast without burning it. He wanted to make Robotnik a proper breakfast, too, but he was on a liquid diet until his broken jaw healed. He shouldered the bedroom door open, tray in hand.

"Good morning," he said, weakly.

Robotnik stared at him. He was vaguely aware of being messy haired, ruffled and still in his pyjamas. His cheeks warmed. He stood up straighter, like that could counter the rest of the unprofessionalism. He'd meant to get himself looking more put together before Robotnik woke up.

"I'm sorry. I burnt my breakfast," he said, by way of explanation.

He coughed into his arm. "I thought you could cook?" His voice was still croaky and quiet.

"I can!" He walked over to him and sat the tray down. "I just haven't been sleeping very well. Your lung, doctor. Are you okay?"

"No thanks to you."

He took his latte off the tray and took a few small sips. Stone checked his watch and handed him a pair of painkillers to ward off any aches. He knew from many, many headaches that there was no breakfast quite like ibuprofen, a coffee, and nothing else. Not in a good way. Not in a bad way, either. There was just nothing like it.

They had their breakfast in silence, with Stone in the chair by his bed and Robotnik sitting up against his pillows. A nurse had changed the dressings on his wounds and helped him clean up in the mornings, much to his chagrin, and Stone intended to keep up the routine. He gathered his supplies in the bathroom: a bowl for warm, soapy water, another for clean water, two washcloths, some fresh bandages and padding.

When he entered the bedroom Robotnik was sitting on the edge of his bed. He attempted to lean over the bandages on his leg, then hissed and sat back up. The angle gave Stone's own ribs a pang.

"Let me do it, sir."

He waved him off.

"You're advised to keep your ribs as still as possible."

"And you're advised to keep top lip zipped to the bottom unless you want both of them split."

Stone clasped his hands together and worried his thumb over his index. Orders were orders, he reasoned, before deciding to ignore them. He placed his tray of supplies on the floor, then fetched some pillows from the closet. He knelt on the floor. He tucked his legs under him and put a pillow on his lap.

"Please?"

Robotnik threw the roll of bandages at his head. It bounced off and started to roll away. Stone grabbed it before it got out of his reach.

"You broke four ribs."

Robotnik sighed deeply before relenting. He lifted his leg onto the cushion and sat back against the wall. The weight of his foot against his lap was reassuring.

He unwrapped the layer of bandages on his leg, then removed the old padding to be discarded. There were a few smaller cuts scattered around his skin, but the deepest gash on his leg was a thick red line with black stitches like barbed wire. The skin around it was pulled tight to close the wound.

He'd caught sight of it in the ambulance. He expected the deep red of blood, but the worst part was the flash of bumpy, yellowish white where metal cut into fat. His heart must have been on the verge of exhausted collapse when he found him; all it could do was shudder useless, de-oxygenated blood and dump it out. He spent the ride in the ambulance thinking, Stay with me, stay with me, on loop.

"You must have nine lives, sir." He swished the washcloth through the bowl, then squeezed out most of the water.

"I think this is the ninth."

"By my count, you're on six."

"Numero seis y numero siete: mushroom incidents."

Stone froze. Twice? He'd almost died twice on some backwater planet that Stone only knew about because Tom liked to gossip? He was supposed to protect him but, god, he only knew he was alive because of conversations at the Mean Bean. People would trust the walls of a café with anything. He had spent his days feigning busyness and eavesdropping.

He attempted to place the washcloth on Robotnik's leg, but he flinched on instinct and brought his knee closer to his chest. He relaxed after a moment and put his foot back on the pillow. Stone wanted to put a hand on his leg to steady it, but it felt strange. Robotnik was always in his space, and he'd had to patch him up before, but this was—new. They'd never been thrown into this sort of proximity. They'd never even gotten drinks after work. They still spent most of their time together, but not like this. They were just entangled in their work. Sometimes they pulled all nighters in the lab, and in the morning Stone would find Robotnik asleep at his desk. He kept a blanket on hand to drape over his shoulders against the chill. They stayed together at hotels or napped on the plane when Walters sent them on long missions. They gossiped. It was just that they didn't hesitate outside of their cars to talk, saying are you free this weekend? Let's try that new café by my apartment. Let's linger.

"And this planet—it was entirely mushrooms? Nothing else?"

"Largely."

He leaned forward, concerned. "What were you eating?"

"Mushrooms."

"And..?"

"Fungi. Bolete, crimini, agaric. Et cetera."

Stone sat back to let the thought settle. He must have been starving.

"I see."

He couldn't be there for him then, but he could be now. His gaze dropped to his lap. He laid a hand near his ankle and soaked in the contact. His skin was warm under his palm and his coarse hair brushed against his fingers. He touched the washcloth to him again and cleaned around the stitches. Then, gently, gently, he went over the wound itself. Robotnik's muscles tensed under his skin, then relaxed into the warmth. He ran the cloth over his leg to clean off the smaller cuts, up behind his knee, then back down to his foot. They were so close that it, paradoxically, made the barriers between them seem wider; the infinitesimal space between atoms that kept everything from touching widened into rivers. He wanted to swim them. It sent a hot ache up his arm and into his chest, then through the rest of his body. Stone's neck still hurt after his nights spent sleeping in a hospital chair. His position, hunched and kneeled, only made it worse. He didn't mind.

"Agent. Look at me."

Stone looked up, both hands still on his ankle. Robotnik waved him forward. He leaned in, curiously. He made a bzzt noise and, robotically, with forefinger and thumb pinched together like a claw machine, leveled his arm with Stone's face. He flicked his forehead. He flinched. It was so irritatingly, typically Robotnik that he had to bite back a laugh.

"Hurry up. My foot's falling asleep."

"Yes, sir." He met his eyes , smiling . He let his voice drop to a whisper no louder than Robotnik's. "I really did miss you."

"Don't be pathetic."

"I mean it." He retraced his steps with the second washcloth to rinse off the soap. "I used to go out every night with my binoculars to watch the stars and wait for you to come back." His grin widened. He looked at him and saw the echoes of green lightning. "It was meteoric, doctor. Beautiful."

His lips twitched with a vague smile for the first time since the crash.

"I know."

They held each other's gazes for a moment before Stone had to look down to pick up the towel to dry him off. He paid special attention to the stitches to make sure they were fully dry. He placed a fresh layer of padding over the wound and cut off the topmost layer of bandages since they'd been on the floor. He wrapped them around his leg until the padding was held in place.

"Is that too tight?"

"It's fine. Get off."

Stone let go of him. He stretched his foot out before putting it firmly on the ground. Stone got up from his knees and sat down on the edge of the bed, parallel to him. Robotnik, with an awkward, one-handed tug, managed to get his shirt off and threw it on the floor. He could see his ribs and the way his shallow breaths shook. He had to take a moment to compose himself.

He unwrapped the bandages and went over his arm. It was easier to find the nerve to hold his bicep in place this time. The soft skin there dipped under his fingers with the firmer muscle just below. He held onto his wrist, still ungloved, when he got to his forearm. He allowed himself the indulgence of holding on a little tighter than he needed to so that he could feel his pulse. He replaced the dressing when he was done, then helped him with his neck and back.

"Are you able to get the rest?"

"Mmm. Do you have any idea where you're sitting?"

Before Stone could ask what that meant, Robotnik elbowed him in the ribs. He gasped as a jolt of pain went through every bruise on his chest.

"Elbow distance." Robotnik snatched the washcloth from him so he could wash his face.

"Well aimed, doctor," he muttered.

He recollected himself and stood up. He picked up the scattered bits of laundry that Robotnik seemed to generate whenever he went and put them in the hamper. He left to give Robotnik some privacy and came back with clean clothes for him to change into. He left him alone again, and when he came back he was in bed. He let him sleep until lunch. He made them both soup, hot and comforting.

He did the laundry after lunch and decided to hang it outside instead of using the dryer. He brought the Crab's claws close to its mouth like it was eating and strung a washing line between them. He threw the laundry over it, Robotnik's half-destroyed old suit among the rest of their clothes. He'd repair it later. Their clothes formed a curtain over the doorway. They cast strange shadows into the interior. The sunlight came in as long, golden strips that shifted lazily as the breeze blew.

He sat down with his back against the doorway and one leg dangling over the edge. The treeline and river stretched out between the laundry. He watched the clouds over the tops of the trees. They were stark white against the blue.

This was going to be the last he'd see of America for a while, he realised. They still had a couple days of travel to reach the border, but once they reached it there was no looking back.

It would be no great loss if he never saw another concrete highway hellscape or spoke to another idiot government official with a stick buried in their colon. It'd been something like home, though, for a while. He sighed and laid his arm across the doorway. He let his head rest against his forearm. He was just as tired as he'd been when he woke up. It was chilly, but when the sun shone on him it soaked into his black clothes and clung to him. He committed the sight to memory, then closed his eyes and let himself bake in the warmth.

He must have drifted off without meaning to, because when he opened his eyes it was the middle of the afternoon. He stretched and looked out over the river. He jumped when he saw the figure standing at the bank. It was a kid. They stared at each other for a moment.

"What's with the crab?" he called.

Stone blinked. "I live here." He looked around. "Where did you come from? I thought this area was uninhabited."

"I live over there." He pointed to an unseen house upstream. "I fish here. Do you wanna fish with me?"

"Not really. Didn't anyone ever tell you about stranger danger?"

"You don't look dangerous."

"That's what you think. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"No."

"Surely your parents have some chores for you?"

The kid shrugged. "Not really."

"Friends?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I don't have any."

"Oh. I'm sorry. You'll get used to it."

They regarded each other for a while longer. He wasn't sure if he liked kids, these new arrivals. Talking to them was strange. Most of them seemed to stay innocent long past the time he grew out of it. Once, when he was small, he got so angry at a kid his age for droning on and on about her parents that he pushed her off the top of the playground. The fall broke her arm. She cried, and he didn't. Later in life, it must've been around his mid-twenties, he looked at the people around him and thought, Well, that's it for me. What people saw in each other, whatever they found interesting, or compelling, he didn't see, and they didn't see it in him. He had a couple brief fascinations with people found in the darkest corner of a party, but in the end whoever he dated or befriended would run out of things to say. So would he.

He didn't mind. He didn't like eyes on him, anyway. He floated between jobs and identities and a couple degrees. He let his curiosity take him where it wanted. He people watched. He accepted the government job and was reassigned a few times until he met the doctor and it all came to a halt. One morning he came into work and thought, There you are. He looked at Robotnik and saw that kid, that tiny version of Stone that insisted on sleeping inside of his rib cage long past his welcome.

"You're weird," announced the kid, at length. "I'm gonna tell my dad."

"He's never going to believe that you saw a housecrab on the river."

"I'll bring him here."

"I'd really prefer you didn't."

The kid shrugged again. He ran off, fishing pole over his shoulder. Stone wasn't sure he'd be able to convince his dad, but there was a chance he would. He didn't want to stick around to find out.

He took the laundry down with the hurried air of someone who had just noticed storm clouds overhead. He shoved it all in a basket to be folded and wound the washing line up. Idiot kid. No, he should have known better than to surface for too long. He went over to the controls with the laundry basket on his hip. He closed the doors and windows off again. They descended underwater.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Robotnik slept the entire day. Stone only woke him to offer him food. Sometimes he was awake all night, too uncomfortable to sleep. He had to sleep propped up in a nest of pillows on his back, unable to roll over or reposition. He never called Stone down on those nights, but at some point the bedroom would glow blue as he turned on a holoscreen. Stone would get up to sit in a chair at his bedside, a blanket over his lap and a pile of crochet wool in a basket at his feet.

In the mornings he tended his wounds for him until it was better for the bandages to be off to let the stitches breathe, though he still helped him wash up. Robotnik only got up—awkwardly supported by a single wrist crutch to take the pressure off his already impinged shoulder—when he had to.

Eventually he needed the stitches out entirely. Neither of them wanted to go to another hospital unless they had to. They'd managed to get out of America, both assumed dead, though the stolen Crab was still a cold case. Stone was trying to keep it that way.

It was simple enough to take them out at home. Robotnik sat at the edge of his bed. Stone held his leg in his lap and snipped the first stitch with sterilised scissors. He held it between two fingers and worked it out from beneath his skin. Stone had gotten stitches out before, and it didn't really hurt, but it pinched. The stitch slithered out like a black worm. He moved on to the next. It felt strangely intimate; he reached beneath his skin and unraveled him, half an inch at a time. It left behind the scar up his leg, joined by a chorus of smaller cuts that had healed into pink and purple marks.

Robotnik had barely even fussed over it. He surrendered and let him take him apart in his hands. First his leg, then, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, his upper arm.

"And... Done."

He put the scissors down and opened his mouth to continue, but a metallic clatter interrupted him. He frowned at the scissors, picked them up off the floor and put them back on the tray. They slid off and bounced off the quilt, landing with another clatter.

"Are we on a lean?" asked Stone.

"I'm going to hope you're not stupid enough to actually need an answer to that question."

"It was largely rhetorical. I think the Crab's leg is playing up again."

"And you've been sitting around instead of fixing it because?"

"I don't like surfacing for too long," he said, getting up, "but we could make an extended pit stop. We need to refuel, anyway."

"Kill two birds with one, eheh, stone?"

"Oh, yes." Stone grinned at him. "Very good."

He went to the main room to set a course to a quiet, out of the way gas station. He popped his head back into the bedroom whilst they were traveling. Robotnik was in bed again, on top of the blankets with an eBook on the holoscreen in front of him.

"Would you like to come with?" he asked.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You haven't been out since you left hospital, sir." he said. "The air will do you good."

"I get plenty of oxygen. What do you think we're breathing? Pure octafluoropropane?"

"Alright." Stone sighed. "I'll make some dinner when I get back. What would you like, by the way?"

"Oh, let me think about my decadent menu. Soup, soup, blended mush, blended mush, soup again. I feel like a baby bird. I've had everything short of you chewing for me and spitting into my mouth."

"Ah?"

"Burgers. Chocolate. Goat curry. Tacos. They sing me little songs in my REM hours. Sometimes I wake up and I get cravings like I'm pregnant. I want those scorpion lollipops. I haven't had one of those since I was a kid."

"I remember them." He tilted his head and looked at him softly. "It won't be much longer."

"It's been too long already."

"We have ice cream if you'd like something sweet."

"I would like to stick my brain somewhere safe and get out of this fragile sack of meat and electricity before I rot in it. But sure. Ice cream sounds just dandy." He barked the last bit. It was the loudest he'd been since the crash and Stone startled at the volume. "Get out of my sight."

"You need to eat something, regardless. I know it's—"

"You don't know anything. I said get out."

"Doctor—"

"Out!"

Stone deflated. "Alright."

He went down the ramp and into the pale evening. The sky was still pink from the last of the sunset. He opened the gas lid on the side of one of the legs to fill up. Inside, the fluorescent lights of the convenience store were so white they were almost blue. The full blast air conditioning sent a chill through him as he stepped over the threshold. He bought some groceries and tried to avoid small talk with the cashier. He missed going shopping without feeling watched. He pocketed his change and left. They were on the move again shortly after to get out of view of the highway, and they stopped in some abandoned field.

The Crab lowered itself at a touch of the fob and laid in the grass. He went outside into the night with the Badniks following him diligently, flashlights on. They bathed him in light and he examined the leg by their glow. The problem had originally just been a gash, but now entire pieces of the mechanism were rusted. Damn it. He'd just have to get it done tonight, even if it meant pulling an all-nighter.

He wished Robotnik could have helped. All he wanted was to be yelled at to hurry it up, fetch this and fetch that. It was just him, though, and the occasional call of an owl. He brought up the blueprints on a holoscreen, as well as the notes he'd added. Robotnik had made the blueprints and gave Stone access to the files, but some of his sketches and original ideas for the design had been scattered in notebooks and on sticky notes. Stone had needed to track them down when he disappeared, then translate his near-incomprehensible handwriting. He could have knocked a week or two off the time it took to build if Robotnik didn't write like he was being chased and needed to leave behind some environmental storytelling.

It had started off as a hot, humid evening, but the air cooled as he worked. He spent the night swapping out parts, cleaning what he could, replacing what he couldn't, and welding it into place. He was exhausted by the time he was done, and his body ached from his neck to his tailbone.

He washed the grease and oil off his arms in the kitchen sink and pushed his sleeves back down. He set them on course to return to the gulf, then poked his head into the bedroom to see if Robotnik was still up. He was.

"Agent."

"Yes?"

"I do want ice cream."

Stone perked up. "Of course."

And he, quite frankly, wanted ice cream too. He got them both bowls of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.

"Everything's fixed," he said, handing Robotnik his bowl.

"Took you long enough."

He sat down in the chair by his bed and thought the night over for a moment. Something had been nagging at him.

"May I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why a crab?"

"Why a—what do you mean why? Isn't it obvious? It's the ideal shape. Everything wants to evolve into a crab. Single cell organisms want to evolve a brain just so they can think about how desperately they want to turn into a crab. Carcinisation. They're the ultimate lifeform." Robotnik got a vague look in his eyes. He looked past Stone like he was addressing someone behind him. "Unless there's some other, even more ultimate lifeform I'm not aware of."

"Sir?"

Robotnik turned back to him. "But I doubt it."

"Yes, sir." The floor rocked under them slightly as the Crab navigated over a hill. He cast an affectionate glance at the wall. "It's certainly proved practical. You did a brilliant job on the design, as always."

"She's a wonder, isn't she?"

"Mhmm. Did you have any plans on where to go next?"

"I don't care."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all."

"You could go anywhere, though. Anywhere on Earth."

Robotnik looked at him in exasperation. "Come here."

Stone leaned forward.

"No, here."

He put his bowl down. He sat, hesitantly, on the side of the bed. Robotnik grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar and pulled him forward.

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters, and I'm going to tell you exactly why, exactly once. Are you listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because I've already held the entire Earth in my hands. Before that blue rat and his accomplices did this to me, I had everything. I could see everything. The fabric of the universe laid itself at my feet, exactly where it belonged, and unraveled at a mere thought. I could feel the subatomic strings vibrating in my skull." Their faces were so close he could feel when Robotnik exhaled. "I know infinity. I understand it, logically and mathematically. But I'd never felt it before that. The human brain is hopelessly limited. It has to shut certain gates to keep from ripping itself apart. I had the training wheels off. I saw it. I held the entire expanse of reality in my head. I felt the white hot heat of the beginning and the ancient cold of the last black hole disintegrating into Hawking radiation. All of it bowed to me. Do you know how that felt?"

Stone swallowed, almost too hypnotised to speak. "Heavenly," he whispered.

"Yes. Exactly."

"And now it's..?"

"Gone." He let go of his collar. "I can remember feeling it, but I can never unlock it again."

Stone was still struggling to find his words. Everything he could possibly say or do felt too small in the face of it. 

"I didn't—I never realised."

"Evidently."

He leaned back slightly. He reached out, tentatively, and laid a hand on Robotnik's good knee. He rubbed a thumb along its side.

"That must feel... Awful." All he wanted was to fix it, and to fill the empty spaces that pressed inside of his skull. He wished he could have—he didn't know. He had the instinct to crawl into his rib cage and put things back together from within. "We could try again. We could get the Chaos Emerald back. It'll be easier this time. He's Sonic. He probably keeps it in a sock drawer somewhere."

"Oh, great plan. I'm looking forward to having the universe ripped away from me a second time. Really, take a bow. It's curtains, Stone. It's over."

He'd been so busy focusing on survival, on staying alive at all, that he hadn't realised how dead their old lives were. They'd had good, stable jobs. Sometimes, despite the co-workers, the government leashes and the inane assignments, they'd both enjoyed it. There had been days where Robotnik bounded into work, already bubbling with ideas that he had to tell to someone, anyone, and Stone listened the whole time, eyes alight in that ever-shifting portable sun. Sometimes when he complimented him Robotnik would give him this slow, genuine smile in response. It felt so unguarded that Stone's heart always choked on its own blood for a beat.

Robotnik had never been content with sometimes. They'd tried to carve out a place at the top and ended up back in the dirt.

"There's nowhere for us to go, is there? There's just here."

"Essentially."

Stone hesitated.

"You're thinking of retiring?"

He thought this over for a moment.

"I am."

Retirement was safe. Things would blow over, eventually, and he could—what did retired supervillains do? Restore classic cars? He could take the Crab somewhere sunny, park it near the beach and stay there for the rest of his earthly life. Would he be happy? Stone turned it over in his mind a few times. Robotnik, with a garden. The suburbs. Endless summer. The whole place to himself. His ribs ached with it.

What was he supposed to do when he didn't need him anymore?

He didn't mind if he wanted to lie in the dirt for a while to let his lungs reexpand. He just wanted to lie with him. He tried to picture himself disentangling his life from Robotnik's and thought, instead, of pulling a loose thread on a sweater until the entire thing fell apart. He'd be see-through without him.

"If that's what you want." He gave him a smile. "I think it's a good idea."

"I don't give a damn what you think, good idea or not." He closed his eyes and sunk into his pillows.

"You should get some sleep," he said, quietly. "I'll do the dishes."

He received no argument on both points. He took their bowls into the kitchen and set them in the sink. He usually tried to stay on top of the dishes better than this, but he'd been busy, so the bowls, pot and utensils from lunch were still sitting in there. He was grateful to have something to keep his hands busy. He was too hollowed out to breathe properly. The dishes clinked as he worked.

Where would he be in four months? He'd need another job, if he could even get one. It was funny, thinking about how relieved his old coworkers would be for him to work a nice, normal job for a painful bore. The rest of the office had spent years either avoiding him or gossiping and insisting that he must hate his job, really, he was just too polite to show it. He got a lot of odd looks when he admitted to the things he loved: wasps, feral pigeons wandering the streets of London, spiders big and small, rats, scorpions and ants with stings far beyond their size, venomous snakes and poison ivy. He thought they were beautiful. He didn't expect any of them to love him back. Why should he? The earth would go on, unmoved, when he died, but it was still his home. All he wanted was to stay in his gravity. Their—proximity, whatever it was, had been the biggest thing in his life for so many years that he wasn't sure what to do without it.

He stood over the sink and considered going to bed. He already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He still couldn't convince his lungs to breathe. He let the water out, resurfaced the Crab and took his motorcycle out on a road near the coast. It was a beautiful, quiet road, with the Sierra Madre off in the distance on one side and the ocean on the other. The moonlight brushed it all with a soft glow. He let the wind whip away his thoughts.

He parked on a hill. He crossed the parking lot and sat on the railing. The hill overlooked a coastal town. There were a few lights on in the windows. Each light was a person. He wanted to wrap it up and give it to him, along with the rest of the world, with a bow on it.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths. The air was fresh, and it carried the smell of impending rain.

It was all too fragile. He kept having dreams about finding him dead somewhere. One day he'd be the only person at Robotnik's funeral. Unless Stone got in over his head and died first, and then—well. There was only one person who'd even consider going to Stone's funeral, and that person didn't need him anymore.

The lights went blurry. G.U.N. agents didn't cry. Robotnik's certainly didn't. But it hit him, sometimes, the gap between what he wanted and what he had.

He rubbed his eyes as a yawn went through him. All he could think of was going back to the Crab so he could lie down on the side of Robotnik's bed with a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat below his skin. He laid out the fantasy in his mind and curled up under its borrowed warmth.

He always did this. He always drove off to some hill when the Crab got suffocating and within half an hour he'd want to go home.

When did he start assuming permanence from anything?

It was just a job. A job he hadn't even lost yet. He wondered how much of his life he would spend in the in-between of grief, waiting for the gunshot.

Robotnik would go on being alive with or without him. That was all he needed, or would learn to need. He took some more breaths and sat with the thought.

He got on his motorcycle when he was ready and drove back to the coast.

He went into the bedroom to check on Robotnik. He slept with his brows furrowed slightly, barely perceptible if not for the way the line between his eyebrows deepened. Had he always slept like that? It had to hurt. All of it. Why him? Stone was in the same crash at the same time, and all he got were bruises and cuts. It should have been him. He should have done more. It wasn't fair for such a brilliant mind to be so exhausted by its body.

He checked the painkillers by his bedside. Empty. He went to get another box and a glass of water and set them both down.

"Stone."

He blinked, startled. "I'm sorry, doctor. Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Couldn't you sleep?"

Robotnik looked at him wearily. Stone's heart gave a pang.

"Take a guess."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Alright."

Stone pulled up his chair to his bed and sat down. He picked up his current crochet project, a blanket made from granny squares. He needed something to keep his hands busy.

"You want to watch a Hallmark?" asked Robotnik, after a while.

"I really, sincerely don't."

"Too bad."

"I never expected this to be one of my workplace hazards."

"Nobody's forcing you to sit there."

Stone looked up to smile at him. "I know."

"Stop bitching, then."

He looked back down at his crochet and counted his rows mentally whilst the movie carried on in the background. He had the motions down. He envisioned his thoughts as a line that ran down through his fingers and into the wool, where they tangled up harmlessly outside of his head.

Robotnik, mercifully, fell asleep halfway through the movie. The lines on his forehead softened. Stone was so tired, but he'd miss these nights spent up together, losing sleep. He reached across to turn off the holoscreen in front of him. He pulled the quilt up over his chest and tried to imbue it with you'll be okay. He wanted to cradle his face in both his hands and kiss his forehead. He was becoming someone who said sleep well with all the gravitas of an incantation.

It was irrational, of course. Hope didn't do anything. It didn't fix anything. Saying something didn't make it real, but it was all he had, other than time.

It didn't feel like enough. All this love with nowhere to go.

Chapter Text

Robotnik's right limbs, freshly freed from the casts, were deathly pale and caked in a layer of dead, sour skin. They both looked weak and stiff from disuse. He was going to be in a boot for another few weeks whilst he returned to weight bearing.

They were just outside of the hospital, with Stone keeping an eye out to make sure he made it across the parking lot alright. When he looked up he noticed the cop hovering under the Crab with a notebook, clearly trying to figure out where to put it. They exchanged a weary look. He didn't know why this kept happening to him. Stone had once gotten a ticket for parking in a half hour spot outside of a hospital because he was too busy bleeding out to move his damn car.

"God," said Stone, "I hate hospitals."

"Does this—" the cop looked up uneasily—"thing belong to you two?"

"Do you have a problem with her?" Robotnik approached him slowly, with Stone falling in line just behind him.

"It's taking up five spaces, that's what."

There was a long, silent moment. Robotnik stared at him blankly.

"On the vanishingly slim chance that I've somehow misunderstood you, how many spaces do you expect it to take up?"

"One."

"Ah. Good. Unsurprisingly, I understood you entirely. Let me try and get this through to you: you are looking at a mech the size of a house. Do you expect me to break the most basic laws of physical space? Is that it? Are you planning to give a parking ticket to gravity next?"

Their conversation continued in heated Spanish whilst Stone listened, smiling contentedly. Best case scenario, he was intimidated into dropping it. Worst case scenario, well, it'd be fun.

"I'll have you know I can have you arrested for disrupting the peace, and apprehend this heap of bolts, too!"

Stone stood up straighter. So much for getting out of a ticket. He folded his hands behind his back and, with a couple small motions, summoned some Badniks from inside. They floated silently down from the door and appeared behind the officer's head. Stone locked eyes with one of their cameras. Robotnik was still talking.

"I could rebuild the Library of Alexandria with all that you don't know," he was saying. "For example, there's something very important you haven't noticed yet."

"And what's that?"

He gestured behind him.

Four things happened in the space of a couple seconds: the Badniks extended their arms and grabbed him by the collar and arms, the cop grabbed his gun, the Badniks lifted him into the air, and the gun went off. It fired into the air, but the sound made every muscle in Stone's body tense. A Badnik confiscated it a second later.

"Put me down!"

The cop kicked and flailed wildly. The hospital receptionist ran out the door, followed by a couple nosy patients. There were shouts, and a few people already on their phones to the police.

"Ah. Doctor. We might need to make a run for it."

"Run is a very optimistic word for what I'm currently limited to."

"May I...?"

A sigh, then a glance over at the gathering onlookers.

"Go on."

Stone scooped him up, bridal style, whilst Robotnik clung to his crutch. He beamed at their crowd, turned on his heel, and ran up the ramp. He put him down as gently as he could to free up his hands and called back the Badniks. They let the cop go. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his arm. He started to get up, but Stone closed the door before he could. He ran over to the console to set their course. They stepped over the cop and the people gathering outside the hospital easily and routed towards the nearest river so they could slip back to the gulf.

"Trying to give me a ticket, of all people," muttered Robotnik.

"It might be advisable to pay another country a visit," said Stone, "given that we just assaulted an officer."

"He'll be fine. He's right next to a hospital."

"I don't think that'll make much of a difference in court."

"Probably not." He walked over to the control panel to watch Stone over his shoulder. "Take us wherever. I don't care."

"Yes, sir."

There was silence for a moment whilst Stone set their course.

"I'm going to have to learn how to walk again, aren't I?"

"I'll help you with the physical therapy, if you need."

"I don't want to deal with any of this," he growled. "It's beneath me."

"It'll be worth it." He looked at him over his shoulder and said, soft as anything, "I want to see you dance again."

He went quiet at that, and something gentler came over his face. "I do miss it."

"You'll get there. This'll all be a memory one day."

"A bad one."

"An awful one," he said. "You might feel better if you shower, though. The warmth will be good for you."

"Who authorised you to give orders?"

"I'm not giving orders. I'm stating my opinions. What you do with them is up to you."

"Pedant."

"I'm aware."

"It's going to be a beautiful day when I don't need you fussing over me all the time. If it'll shut you up, fine."

He sighed. "Yes, doctor."

He shuffled off to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Stone stood patiently outside of it. Robotnik opened it a crack and looked at him.

"I need help with the step."

The step over the shower curb had been a struggle for him the handful of times he'd had a shower instead of a sponge bath. Robotnik lifted his right arm, slowly, and let it drape stiffly over Stone's shoulders. He shifted closer and held onto Robotnik's waist to steady him. He could feel the outline of his ribs through his loose T-shirt. His fingers rested in the slight dimples between his ribs, like fingers interlocking. He'd always been lithe, but he'd gotten skinnier lately. It worried him. He let him lean most of his weight against him. They took the step over in tandem, with Stone acting as a second crutch to keep as much pressure off his injured leg as possible. Robotnik was able to lower himself into the chair from there.

"Call me if you need anything."

He made a start on lunch whilst he showered. He got to cook for him properly, now. He was still on soft foods, but he had a wealth of recipes built up from their stay for when he was better. For today, though, he went with an old favourite of pasta and soft, pillowy garlic bread.

The running water stopped. Stone turned off the stove and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Do you need me to help you out?"

"Urgh."

"Is that a yes urgh or a no urgh?"

A beat.

"Yes."

He fetched a towel from the hallway closet and draped it over his shoulder. Robotnik was already wrapped in a towel when he came in. He clung to it like it was a blanket. His moustache drooped under the weight of the water. He looked like a cat that had been dunked in the bath. They'd been using the same lemon scented body wash, and he could still smell it on him.

He took the towel off his shoulder and dried his hair whilst he was still sitting. It was growing out in awkward ginger spikes. Stone found it cute. Robotnik tilted his head forwards to let him dry the back of his head, and his forehead brushed his chest as he did. He could get it himself now, but it was one of the little rituals they'd formed when his shoulder was stiffer and he did it automatically. He fussed over his hair a little longer than he needed just to keep him there, melted into his hands. He mumbled something, and Stone stopped.

"Hm?"

"I'm so tired," he said, more forcefully, "of... gah. I can't do anything. I'm tired of being tired." He sighed. "That's the simplest way to put it."

"I understand."

"I can't even take a shower. I'm Ivo Fucking Robotnik, I don't—" his voice broke a bit, and Stone's heart with it—"I shouldn't need anyone's help."

Stone looked at him, with his damp skin bare save for the towel around his midsection and his face still hidden, and realised just how vulnerable he was, and how long he'd spent putting his whole life in his hands. He couldn't blame him for his moods. Any animal, human or not, got bitey when injured. Robotnik had the same flesh as anyone else; he had the same canines, lengthened from years of mistreatment.

"There's no shame in it. You're the same genius you always were. Not a single thing in this room alone would be possible without you." He draped the towel over his shoulder again. "Would you prefer I didn't do your hair?"

"It's fine."

"Alright." He picked up the brush from the shower caddy and started to brush his hair out. "Anyway, I like looking after you."

"Mmm." He let him brush his hair for a moment longer before putting a hand on Stone's arm to steady himself. "Help me up, then."

He helped him over the shower lip again and over to the chair where they draped their clothes whilst they showered.

"I'll go finish lunch."

They ate at the kitchen island when Robotnik wasn't in bed, with a chair either side so they could face each other. He laid out the plates and cutlery. The door clicked open behind him and they sat across from each other to eat. They ate in silence at first, with Stone barely eating. He just watched the smile on his face. Stone had gotten an awful stomach bug a few years ago, and he knew how decadent the first proper meal after a long time spent sick felt. It was like a switch; everything was awful, until it wasn't.

Some of the colour returned to his pale cheeks. It was lovely to see him in a better mood. It was lovelier still to know it was because of him. There was something special about cooking for him after a long string of mushrooms, liquids and little else. He was finally able to lay his hands out, palms up, offering comfort.

"Oh, bread, how I missed you."

"Feeling better now?"

"Alright. Yes." He took another small bite. "God, you're a good cook."

Stone beamed. "Thank you."

He gathered up the dishes when they were done. Robotnik lingered by the counter, watching him.

"You want to finish our game?"

Stone hesitated. Our game was a, as of last night, three hour long chess match that Stone had called a break on because his head felt like it was melting and he needed to sleep.

"If it takes too long I'm calling a draw so I can do the dishes."

"You're just afraid of losing."

"I am not."

He went into the bedroom to fetch the board from where they'd left it. They'd put the pieces away, with a sheet of paper next to it to note the locations of them all. He set up the board on the kitchen island. They sat across from each other, arms folded on the counter in front of them.

He studied Robotnik's face. He stared him down in return. They drilled into each other like two cowboys sizing each other up, waiting to see who'd draw first. He watched as Robotnik's still bare hands made their first move.

"Have you thought about wearing your gloves again? You should have enough of a range of motion to use them both again, soon."

"I'm retired."

He raised his eyebrows. "You almost got arrested."

"I was putting him in his place," he muttered.

He held his hand out after a moment of thought. Stone grinned. He helped him pull the gloves on, and when he pulled his hands back he rubbed his right wrist. He summoned a Badnik just to pet its side affectionately whilst he waited for Stone to make his move.

He could tell he was planning something, but what? He was fairly sure that he was nineteen moves ahead of Robotnik, but the trouble was that Robotnik was twenty ahead of him. They went on like this for some time until Robotnik got a devious gleam in his eye. Stone steeled himself.

"Checkmate."

"How on Earth?" He retraced his steps in his head. His eyes widened when he realised the trap he'd walked into. It was only obvious in retrospect. He grinned. "Oh, brilliant move, doctor."

"It was."

"In my defense, I may've seen that coming if I wasn't already half asleep last night. You sprung a trap on the walking dead."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Robotnik, drily.

"We need to start our games earlier."

"They wouldn't take so long if you learnt to think faster." He scribbled on a piece of paper. "That's another one for your losing streak."

"I never lost at chess before I met you," he sighed. "That first game was very bruising to my ego."

"Think of it as nostalgic. I'm sure you lost plenty of times as a sniveling babe."

"I suppose. One of my foster mothers was a master, did I ever tell you that? I never managed to beat her." He might have gotten there if they didn't bounce him from home to home every year.

"She taught you everything you know, I assume." Robotnik rolled his eyes. "How sweet."

Stone scoffed. "Hardly. I hated her." He started to pack up. "I taught myself, mostly."

He did the dishes after packing up the board. He stood in the middle of the kitchen feeling like he'd forgotten something. He went over his list of chores in his mind and found everything done, or at least satisfactory until tomorrow. He went over his list again. He realised, with a sensation like splashing cold water into his face in summer, that he didn't have anything to do.

He left his shoes and jacket by the door. He swapped out the driver's chair for the couch—there was a mechanism hidden beneath the floor that swallowed up the chair and allowed a couch to unfold. He loosened his tie and threw it over the backrest.

He sat down and tried to think of what to do.

He had another crochet project going. Stone had finished the blanket a couple weeks ago and had draped it over Robotnik, muttering I made it for you. He had said it was pretty, and little else, but kept it on his bed over his quilt. Sometimes he wore it draped across his shoulders like a cloak.

No, it could wait. He'd been working on it the other night, anyway. He could read. After reading the same paragraph about five times, he realised he actually couldn't. He rubbed his temples. He could normally go through a book in a sitting or two, especially when he had this much downtime.

He could watch some TV. He'd been watching telenovelas with Robotnik on those nights that he couldn't sleep, but he wasn't particularly in the mood for that. A movie, maybe. Nothing new sounded very interesting, but he had a few old favourites to revisit. He had a hunch that he wouldn't be able to focus on anything that he hadn't almost memorised.

He put one on and shifted to get comfortable. His head was heavy, and he wanted to lie down. He put his feet up on the couch and leaned his head against the armrest. There was a pillow at an awkward angle against his back. He fished it out and hugged it to his chest. He stretched his legs out. It struck him how casual it all was. He used to watch movies like this in his apartment on his days off. He was getting used to this, he realised.

He blinked and the movie was halfway over. Something brushed over his shoulders and he stirred, looking up. Robotnik froze like he'd been caught in the middle of robbing a museum, still holding the crochet blanket. He finished pulling it up to Stone's neck and his throat seized with the gentleness of his touch.

"Doctor?"

"Enjoying your nap?"

He dropped the blanket and straightened up. His crutch had been resting against the couch and the movement disturbed it. It clattered to the floor and Robotnik hissed through his teeth. Stone reached down to grab it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He handed Robotnik his crutch.

"You didn't mean to—you're just passing out anywhere you sit at this point. Scoot over."

Stone pulled his knees up to give him space. He sat down, took off the boot on his healing leg and lifted his feet into the couch. He got into his personal space with the causal disregard of a wrecking ball through a wall of glass.

"I can get up, if you want to lie down."

"Stay. That's an order. Finish your nap. I'm not having you burn down my mech just because you were tired. Again, might I add."

His cheeks warmed. He'd hoped he'd forgotten about that. He was too tired to resist the offer, the command, of rest. He stretched out, hesitantly. He rested both his legs close to Robotnik's good one. He didn't want to hurt him. His calf leaned against his thigh. Stone adjusted the blanket so it was over both of them. He put the pillow he'd been holding behind his head and lay down against it. The places where their legs touched were so warm they might as well have been burning. He'd barely been touched during the months he'd been gone, and it made all the contact since so much sharper. He melted into it, gratefully.

"Don't let me sleep too long," he said, already closing his eyes. "I need to make dinner later."

"I want takeout."

"Oh. Good idea."

"I'll order you something."

"Thank you." He didn't need to tell him what to get. He knew what he liked. They used to order takeout during long shifts at the lab.

"I'm eating yours if you don't wake up for it."

"Go ahead. You can change the movie, by the way, I've already missed most of it."

There was a moment of silence, then the theme song of La Última Pasion played. They'd watched so many episodes together that Stone knew it from the first few notes. It got quieter after a moment, and he realised Robotnik was turning it down to let him sleep. He zoned out most of the dialogue, only catching out of context snippets.

He'd almost drifted off when Robotnik spoke, quietly, almost to himself. "Do I exhaust you that much?"

Stone looked at him. He said it with a little laugh, like it was a joke, but there was something soft in his eyes. He felt the weight of it like he'd dropped something onto his chest.

"No. It's just—" he tried to think of something at all eloquent to say, but his head was still swimmy—"it's been a lot, living on the lam and all."

"I know."

"But I don't mind." He nudged their knees together, gently.

Robotnik looked at him for a moment.

"Am I right in assuming I'd be dead back there without you?"

"You... Were in a bad state, yes."

"Not the first scrape you've dragged me out of."

"Probably the worst, though."

They regarded each other for a long, quiet moment. The words felt too small for the truth of it. Robotnik bumped their knees together again in silent acknowledgement. Stone smiled at him. It was worth it all for this one lazy, warm afternoon with their legs intertwined.

He had to cover his mouth to yawn. He settled back into the pillow and closed his eyes. He drifted off to the soft chatter of the TV.

Chapter Text

After Mexico, they toured a couple other North American countries before moving on to South America, with Stone picking up recipes wherever he went. Eventually they stopped clinging to the coast and spent some time beneath the ocean, exploring the southern hemisphere. They were currently off the coast of Australia. The Crab was underwater, but the pair stood on the beach, letting the sea breeze cool them off after some yoga. Stone had started doing yoga in the morning or the midafternoon to soothe the lingering aches he'd had up and down his spine after the crash. Robotnik had started out watching him from the bed whilst he did his own stretches, but he had enough strength to join him now. The hard part was convincing him to do it. Most of the time he refused, muttering about woo nonsense and going back to sleep, but sometimes he went through a gentle routine with him.

He had gained a lot of motion already, though he was still achy in the mornings and tired most of the day. He'd gained some weight, too, and it was probably the first time in a long while that he wasn't undereating. Stone had watched him go through entire ten hour workdays without food. He had taken to asking if he wanted to join him on his lunch break, or getting enough for both of them, or occasionally telling him to his face that he'd feel less like ripping out someone's small intestine if he ate.

It was a dark, chilly afternoon. The sky turned the ocean grey and reflected in the wet sand until he was surrounded by clouds. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Robotnik had left his blanket inside, but he was still in a tank top and sweatpants, with a bathrobe hastily thrown over them. He was supported by a cane. They looked out over the ocean. It lapped rhythmically at the shore with a hiss that filled the air.

"You said this beach was deserted."

Stone followed Robotnik's gaze. There was a lone woman walking her dog up along the beach. The dog perked up its ears and bounded over to them.

"Hi, pup," said Stone.

"Who let their worm on the string escape?"

"It's a whippet, I think."

"She's friendly!" the woman called. She jogged over to them. "Hi."

They both looked at her blankly.

"Hello," said Stone.

"You uh, you always dress for the beach like this?"

"Yes," said Stone.

"Oh. Yeah, nah, looks great."

"Walking your dog?"

"I'm not here to fuck spiders."

"What?" they asked, simultaneously.

She laughed. "Hey, great chat. You two have a good morning."

She called her dog over and jogged away. They watched her in stunned silence.

"Do you think she was just messing with us because we're tourists?" asked Stone.

"We're not tourists. Tourism implies some level of enjoyment."

Stone shifted uneasily. "I have sand in my shoe already."

"So do I."

They watched the ocean for a while longer. A gust of wind picked up and some sand hit Stone's pant leg.

"I forgot that I don't actually like the beach," muttered Stone.

Robotnik fixed him with a glare.

"So we're standing around getting covered in sand for no reason other than you wanted to have a beach episode?"

"Er."

He smacked him in the back of his leg with his cane. Stone flinched. He summoned the Crab and disappeared inside after it rose out of the ocean. Stone followed him inside, shaking sand off his shoes. Robotnik went off to the bedroom. Stone rolled up his sleeves and tried to think of what to do. He could bake, he supposed. He had the time.

He was learning to make bread. He'd never had the time to try it before. He gathered up the ingredients, his bowls and utensils and laid them out on the counter. There was something in the methodological process of it that soothed him. He opened the bag of flour so that he could cover the counter before kneading the dough. He overshot and a puff of flour spread through the kitchen, landing on him and the floor. He sighed and put the bag down, wiping his hands on his apron. He opened up the cupboard near the kitchen and peered inside. No broom. Strange. He'd always kept it there. Where was it, then? Not in the laundry. There was nowhere else it could logically be, which meant it had either vanished entirely or it was somewhere illogical.

"Doctor?" Stone poked his head into the bedroom and looked around. Music blasted from the speakers in the wall. "Have you seen my—oh."

Robotnik looked up. He was clinging onto the broom in a dramatic dip, looking like he was about to kiss it. They stared at each other for a moment, wide eyed. He stood up by bracing himself with the broom like it was a cane.

"Sir?"

"Stone."

"May I have my broom back?"

"Why?"

"I need to sweep up."

"No, you don't. I don't need you roleplaying as my maid all the time."

"I live here?" said Stone, tentatively, like he wasn't sure that Robotnik had actually noticed and had assumed that he just had a particularly bad pest problem. "I like my house to be tidy."

"And I like things to be where I put them."

"I know. I don't touch anything important."

"Yes you do!"

"What could you possibly need with four crushed cans of Monster Energy and an empty takeout box?"

"I don't expect you to understand the machinations of a genius."

Stone looked at him wretchedly. Robotnik glared him down. They had a chess game's worth of significant eye contact before Stone relented, much as he hated to. Robotnik could keep his house however he wanted, of course, but he wondered what he even kept him around for at this point.

"I'll leave whatever you want, but I'm still sweeping up the kitchen."

"Deal. I'll swap you." He held the broom towards him, then grabbed it back when he reached for it. "The broom for you."

"What?"

"I need a more stable prop. I keep losing my footing."

"If it hurts, you should—"

"Just follow my lead." Robotnik gripped into his shoulder with his better hand and rested the other one against his upper arm.

"Follow your lead on what, exactly?" He reached up and held onto Robotnik's arms to steady him.

"Dance with me, you idiot."

He didn't even have time to process the request. Robotnik was too much of a force of nature to resist at times. He let him drag him into the first few steps. He was half prop, half dance partner. He stared down to watch their feet. He tried to match what Robotnik was doing, but both of them were clumsy.

"You can barely walk," he said, tentatively. "Are you sure you're ready to dance?"

"Who's the doctor here?"

"You, sir."

Stone had never learnt to dance. He used to try, but whatever he did as a teenager didn't really count. He would have tried harder if he thought anyone would ever ask him. He used to let himself slip into a world where Robotnik grabbed him by the arms to dance and spin through their old lab until they were both dizzy and gasping, and until they were disoriented enough for it to feel natural for Robotnik to press a kiss to his jaw, breath hot on his neck. It was something he chose to do in lucid dreams. It wasn't real, with all the cramped awkwardness that implied. It only took a few steps for them to run out of space. Stone stepped back and stumbled into the wall. He knocked his shoulder against it and winced.

"I think we should try the main room," said Stone, "before you get hurt."

Robotnik pulled him away from the wall and through the door. The music followed them through. The light shifted from red to a brilliant, aquatic blue. The covers on the windows were open and the light of the Pacific ocean poured in and rippled around them. The giant screen over the controls showed a feed of the outside. They were surrounded by corals and colourful fish.

The movement threw him off what little rhythm he had. Where were they up to? He wasn't even sure what dance they were doing.

He lifted one hand and tapped at the air. He brought up a holoscreen behind them and read it over Robotnik's shoulder. He found the diagram he had last been looking at. It showed him a maze of cartoon footsteps connected by dots. He went over the steps in his head. One, two, three-four. Slow, slow, quick-quick.

He stepped forward when he should have gone back and bumped into Robotnik. Their limbs knocked together awkwardly, with Stone's shoulder colliding into Robotnik's arm. Robotnik retaliated by kicking his calf with his right leg. A jolt of pain went through him and he had to take the weight off that leg, which threw them both off balance. It was even going to bruise. He beamed at him.

"You're getting your strength back."

"Doesn't feel like it. Keep up, will you?"

"I'm trying."

"You're worse than the broom."

One, two, three-four. Come on. Robotnik was already leaning more weight on him. He tightened his hold on his arms to hold him up. He went back to staring at their feet. Robotnik took an awkward step and stumbled, but Stone caught him. They regained their balance and continued on.

One, two, three-four. One, two, three-four.

"I think we're getting it," said Stone.

He looked up at the instructions to try and figure out how he was actually supposed to be holding him. It all looked so—romantic. No. It didn't mean anything. He was a prop. He let one hand ghost up the underside of his arm. There was a sliver of bare skin between the pushed up sleeves of his robe and his gloves. Stone's fingers slid across it and traced the vein there before his hand settled into Robotnik's. Their palms rested loosely against each other with their flingers intertwined. The fabric of his gloves was soft against Stone's bare, floury hands. He kept his other hand on Robotnik's arm. One, two, three-four. Both of them were on steadier footing.

He risked a glance at Robotnik's face. The blue light illuminated him gently. He had relaxed into it and beneath his moustache there was the trace of a smile. Stone's breath caught in his throat. They were closer than when they started. They'd drifted together as they adjusted. His world narrowed to the points of contact between them. Robotnik's fingertips on his shoulder burned through his thin shirt.

They were dancing.

It was stilted and slow, but it was theirs. They floated, dreamlike, across the floor. Robotnik's grip on him was gentler. He was greedy for it. He wanted his head buried in the crook of his neck and his entire body alight with touch and enveloped with heat until he could barely tell where he stopped and Robotnik began; he wanted them chest to chest, hand to hand, with his fingers on his waist and his shoulder and lips pressed to his forehead. He wanted, he realised, to go home. The thought hit him with physical force and he almost stumbled again.

Neither of them had anywhere to go. It didn't matter.

He had his tether. His one constant. He'd never believed in fate, or destiny. If he had a purpose in life it was the purpose he chose, and what he chose was this: to stay here, with the one home he'd ever really known. Was he going to spend every second waiting for it to end? He'd let this fester too long.

"Doctor," he whispered.

"What is it?"

"You keep letting me stay."

"Yes?"

"But you don't really need an agent, do you?"

There was a pause. He wondered if his voice had been drowned out by the music. His heart sped in his neck.

"You're... Quitting?" He looked confused, then angry a second later. "You can't quit."

"I'm not quitting," he said, quickly. "I'm just not sure what my job description is anymore."

"Same as it's always been. Has it been so long since they dumped you in my lap that you forgot?"

"No. It's just, I had visions of you retiring to Florida, or something. Somewhere you wouldn't need an agent." He tilted his head. "Somewhere to call home."

He scoffed. "Why would I ever do that? What is it that you think I want? Sprawling suburban cages with lurid green lawns, burnt toast and fire alarms? Do you think I want little flower paintings on my walls?" They spun, slow slow quick-quick, through the room. Their steps traced circles over the floor. "This planet is full of people who want to go home and rot there until someone calls the cops because of a funny smell. I have nothing as worthless as barbecues and family to keep me tied to mediocrity."

"Then you still—" it felt like such a childish thing to say out loud, but he needed to hear it—"need me around?"

"I don't see anyone else doggedly committed to bringing me lattes. You can stay, is what I mean," he said. He added, more gently, "If that's what you want."

"As long as you'll have me."

He grinned at him. He'd been carrying the weight of anticipation for so long that he hadn't realised how much it ached until it was gone. His head felt like it was full of helium. Was it dizziness or elation? It must have been contagious, because after a second they were both beaming. They spun in tighter circles.

The kid still curled up in Stone's ribs, the one that had wanted to go home since he was born, quieted for a moment. He wondered if, under all his posturing, Robotnik had a kid in his own rib cage that wanted the same. He tried to picture what he looked like when he was small: ginger hair, glasses, a too big jacket he thought he looked cool in and, God, maybe freckles. He wished they could have met, impossibly young and impossibly close in age, and ran off together, hand in hand. Neither of them had family to go to. It was just the two of them against the whole moronic world, holding onto each other across time.

He stroked his thumb up the side of Robotnik's palm as they spun, one last time, before they stopped abruptly. It snapped him out of his reverie. Robotnik grabbed his waist and dipped him close to the floor. Stone gasped and Robotnik hissed in pain. He lost his grip and he ended up on the floor. The impact jarred up his back. It took a moment for him to remember how to breathe.

"Ow," he muttered.

"I... meant to do that," He rubbed his wrist.

"Of course, sir." He sat up, biting back a laugh. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You were brilliant, as always. You should get some rest." Stone stood up and brushed his hands off on his apron again. He looked over at the counter. "I forgot about my bread."

"You're baking?" He made his way over to the counter to sit on the other side. He rested his arms against the countertop.

"Mhm. I'm hoping it goes better than the last loaf. I've been reading about the chemistry of it."

He sent a Badnik to go grab the broom for him so he could sweep up whilst he talked about the process. Something he said got Robotnik started on the show he'd been bingeing, and he let him rant whilst he kneaded.

Things were going to be different. Robotnik's bones were always going to bother him when it rained. Stone's neck was always going to ache worse than it used to when he slept on it wrong. But they'd have this, too; quiet afternoons spent pissing each other off and making each other laugh.