Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"C'mon, it's totally worth it. Promise!"

Shadow folded his arms, refusing to five into the pleading look from Sonic.

"That's what you said about the last game and yet you still have no prize to show for it."

"That one was totally a scam!" Sonic argued. "Used up all my cash and I know for a fact that my parents aren't gonna give me anymore no matter how many times I run back home."

"And now you want to use mine to get scammed again?"

Sonic eyed the green bills clutched in the other hedgehog’s hand. "That's way too much to just spend on ice-cream and cotton candy. How'd you convince Stone to give you that much anyway?"

"I just told him I was going to the carnival with you and asked for some money, exactly the way you told me to," Shadow answered with a shrug.

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “So now you're saying it was your plan all along to burn my cash?”

“No, no, no,” Sonic said quickly, waving his hands. “Look, I get it. You’re cautious. You’re responsible. You’re the brooding, mysterious type who’s above rigged carnival games. But hear me out…”

He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “What if we beat them this time? What if, for once, we walk away winners?”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Sonic pressed on. “Besides, I scoped this one out. It’s not rigged. I saw a kid win earlier. The guy behind the booth wasn’t even paying attention.”

“…You watched a child win a game and decided that was a valid metric of fairness?”

Sonic huffed. “You’re seriously underestimating how good I am at this kind of stuff. C’mon, just one try. One. If I lose, I’ll buy you whatever you want with my allowance next month. I win, you get the prize.”

Shadow exhaled through his nose. “Fine. One.”

“YES!” Sonic snatched the bills from Shadow’s hand before he could change his mind and zipped off toward the booth.

The game in question was the classic — throw the ring onto the bottles. Sonic flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing as he studied the setup. “Alright, bottle dude. Let’s dance.”

Shadow stood off to the side, arms crossed, deadpan as ever. “You know, the phrase is usually ‘let’s go,’ not ‘let’s dance.’”

Sonic shushed him dramatically.

He took aim.

Tossed the first ring.

It bounced off the rim.

Sonic’s face twisted.

“Told you,” Shadow muttered.

“Hey hey, it’s a warm-up!” Sonic snapped, then took a deep breath and threw the second.

Clink.

It teetered...

And settled perfectly around the neck of the bottle.

“HA!” Sonic whooped, punching the air. “Take THAT, rigged game logic!”

The booth operator, barely looking up from his phone, pointed lazily to the prize shelf. Sonic scanned the options and grinned as his eyes landed on a bright pink stuffed bear with “YOU'RE MY SPECIAL SOMEONE!” embroidered on its stomach in puffy red letters.

Shadow’s eyes widened as Sonic returned, prize in hand.

“Oh no,” Shadow said flatly.

“Oh yes,” Sonic replied smugly, pressing the bear into Shadow’s hands. “A deal’s a deal. I win, you get the prize.”

Shadow looked at the bear like it might explode. “This is… stupid.”

“And adorable,” Sonic added. “Don’t forget adorable.”

Shadow stared at the stuffed bear for a moment, then gave a long-suffering sigh. “I hate you.”

Sonic slung an arm around his shoulder with a smirk. “Nah, you love me. You’re just bad at showing it.”

The two later wound up on a bench in the middle of the Greenhill town fair, a collection of popcorn, ice-cream and other unhealthy snacks stockpiled between them. 

The earlier thrill of victory and sugar-fueled antics had mellowed into a quiet comfort, marked by casual conversation and the occasional, almost unnoticeable, glance exchanged between the two.

Shadow, uncharacteristically relaxed, toyed absentmindedly with the pink stuffed bear now resting in his lap. Sonic, reclining with one arm draped over the bench's backrest, was mid-story about a high-speed mishap involving chili dogs and an unfortunate vendor when the sharp trill of his phone abruptly cut through the ambient noise.

Startled, he fished it out of his quills, glancing at the screen. His expression faltered.

“Shoot,” he muttered, voice dropping. “That’s my mom. I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago.”

Shadow tilted his head. “So… don’t answer it?”

Sonic groaned. “No, dude, I have to. I’m already pushing it.”

Shadow's brow furrowed. “Pushing what?”

“My curfew.”

There was a pause. Shadow stared blankly. “What’s a curfew?”

Sonic blinked. “You know, the time you’re required to be home. Like a deadline, but enforced by parental guilt and increasingly aggressive text messages.”

“…So you’re saying you’re being punished for staying outside too long?”

“It’s not punishment unless I miss it,” Sonic clarified. “But if I don’t haul it back now, I’m gonna get grounded—and trust me, that means no running, no games, and no fun. For weeks.”

Shadow’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes drifted briefly to the stuffed bear. “That seems… inefficient.”

“Welcome to Earth family rules.”

Reluctantly, Sonic stood, brushing popcorn salt from his gloves. “Guess I gotta split. Rain check on the rest of the cotton candy?”

Shadow gave a small nod, then hesitated before speaking. “You’ll make it in time?”

“Dude. Supersonic speed.” Sonic winked, stepping back. “I’ll text you when I get in. Don’t worry.”

As Sonic vanished into a blur of cobalt, Shadow remained on the bench, staring after the fading streak of light with a contemplative frown. He looked down at the plush toy still resting on his knees.

“…Curfew,” he repeated under his breath, as if the word itself were an alien artifact to be studied.

Stone was humming when Shadow got into their home. Humming as he worked over the stove top, a delightful aroma emanating from the kitchen.

Stone turned away from the simmering pot and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the pink stuffed bear in Shadow’s arms.

“Well,” he said, lips twitching in amusement, “you certainly look like you had a productive evening.”

Shadow, deadpan, held the bear up wordlessly as if that explained everything. Stone chuckled and walked over, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms. “Sonic convinced you to play one of those games you swore were a waste of money?”

Shadow gave a reluctant nod.

Stone smirked. “And you won?”

“I did not,” Shadow replied stiffly. “He did. This was his idea of a victory prize.”

Stone’s expression softened as he reached out to pat the top of the bear’s fuzzy head. “Aww. That’s kind of sweet.”

“It’s humiliating,” Shadow muttered, though he didn’t relinquish the bear.

“Is it?” Stone said with a raised brow. “Or is it nice having someone who bothers to include you in their goofy little traditions? Even if they involve stuffed animals and suspicious games of chance.”

Shadow didn’t respond right away. He set the bear gently on the counter beside him and leaned against it, watching Stone return to his cooking.

“…What’s for dinner?”

“Curry,” Stone replied. “And before you ask, yes, I made it mild.”

“Good."

Stone glanced over. “So, did you have fun?”

Shadow didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the kitchen tiles, then at the bear, then finally gave a quiet, almost imperceptible nod. “It was… fine."

Stone smiled knowingly. “You’re allowed to admit you had fun, y’know. Nothing wrong with that."

"I didn’t say there was."

“Didn’t say you did. But it’s okay to let your guard down. Especially with someone who clearly cares.”

Shadow shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “He’s… reckless. Loud. Annoying.”

“But?”

“…He kept his promise.” Shadow’s gaze flicked to the bear again. “And he didn’t mock me. Not really.”

Stone stirred the curry thoughtfully. “That’s a good friend, then. Even if he’s all those things. Maybe because he’s all those things.”

Shadow leaned his head against the cabinet, silent again. After a moment:

“…What’s grounding?”

Stone blinked, then chuckled. “You really had a crash course in parenting rules today, huh?”

“He said he’d be grounded if he was late,” Shadow said, his tone neutral but curious. “That he wouldn’t be able to run or have fun for weeks.”

“Well, grounding is when a kid breaks the rules—like missing curfew—and their parents take away privileges. No games, no outings, no electronics. Stuff like that."

Shadow frowned. “That’s… petty.”

Stone snorted. “Depends who you ask."

There was a pause.

"So if he doesn’t make it in time, they’ll take away what he loves most?”

"That’s the idea. But I’m sure he’ll make it.”

Shadow nodded slowly. “He said he would.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then Stone ladled out two bowls of curry and gestured toward the table.

“C’mon. Eat while it’s hot.”

Shadow picked up the bear again and followed.

The warmth of the curry filled the kitchen with a cozy, grounding kind of silence—just the bubbling of the stovetop, the clink of silverware, and the distant hum of night outside. Shadow sat at the table, bear propped beside him, and took a careful bite. It wasn’t half bad. He’d never say it out loud, but Stone’s cooking was growing on him.

Halfway through the bowl, a sharp ding broke the stillness.

Shadow glanced at the phone beside his tray. One new message.

[SONIC]: made it! she was this close to going full mom-mode but I got in just in time. crisis averted. 😎

A second later, another message followed.

[SONIC]: also, pretty sure that bear’s your soulmate now. keep it safe.

Shadow’s lips twitched. It might have almost been a smile.

He set the phone down, taking another bite, quieter now—quieter inside, too. Something had settled in his chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. A strange mix of security and curiosity.

After a long pause, he looked across the table. “Stone?”

“Yeah?” Stone didn’t look up from his bowl, though his tone was light.

“Why don’t I have a curfew?”

Stone raised an eyebrow at the question and set his spoon down. “You want one?”

"No... maybe? I don’t know. Shouldn't I have one?"

"You might be the first kid in the history of kids to ever willingly suggest that."

Shadow frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

“I mean,” Stone continued, gesturing loosely with his spoon, “you weren’t exactly raised with the standard set of rules. You weren’t taught bedtime routines or chore charts. You were trained like a soldier, not raised like a child.”

Shadow didn’t respond, but his gaze dropped to the curry again, quietly stirring it around his bowl.

“So,” Stone went on gently, “when I brought you here, I figured we’d start with the basics: safety, routine, food that isn’t lab-issued protein mush. I didn’t think you needed a curfew because I didn't want it to seem like I was taking your newfound freedom away from you."

Shadow was quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly: “But Sonic has one.”

Stone looked across the table, surprise flickering in his eyes. He studied Shadow for a beat, then set his spoon aside completely, giving the hedgehog his full attention.

“You want a curfew,” he said slowly, as if testing how the words felt in his mouth. “Because Sonic has one.”

Shadow didn’t meet his gaze. “Not because of that. I just…” He paused, frowning at the bear sitting upright beside his bowl like a silent witness. “It’s structure. It’s… normal. Isn’t it?”

Stone leaned back in his chair, arms crossing lightly. His voice softened. “Shadow, if you want normal, we can work toward it. But you know you don’t have to match Sonic’s life beat for beat to have value, right?”

Shadow’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It’s not about value.”

Stone tilted his head. “Then what is it?”

Shadow was quiet again. Then, with a bit more edge than he intended: “You said yourself—I wasn’t raised like a child. And I… I don’t know what parts I’m supposed to want. But when he said he had to go home, when he had to be somewhere… it felt like he belonged. Somewhere.”

Stone blinked. His arms slowly uncrossed.

"All I'm saying is..." He hesitated, then finally met Stone’s gaze. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if someone expected me to come home.”

A long silence followed. The only sound was the faint ticking of the kitchen clock.

Then Stone let out a quiet exhale and smiled—genuine and small.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll try a curfew.”

Shadow blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“Sure,” Stone said, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. “We’ll start simple. Let’s say… weekdays, be home by 9 PM unless we talk about it first. Weekends are more flexible. And if you’re ever late without checking in—then we’ll talk consequences.”

"Consequences?”

“Don’t worry,” Stone added with a teasing grin. “Nothing cruel and unusual. But if I give you structure, you’ve gotta respect it. Deal?”

Shadow considered it. Then, slowly, nodded. “Deal.”

Stone stood up, picking up his now-empty bowl and heading for the sink. “Man. Imagine telling G.U.N. that the Ultimate Lifeform voluntarily asked for a bedtime.”

Shadow scowled. “It’s not a bedtime. It’s a curfew.”

“Sure, sure,” Stone chuckled. “You want me to print out a little fridge calendar while I’m at it?”

“Don’t push it.”

Stone laughed under his breath as he rinsed the dishes. “Alright, alright. No calendar. Yet.”

Shadow glanced at his phone again. No new messages. But the last ones from Sonic still sat there like a quiet ember of warmth. He saved the thread before locking the screen.

After the dishes were done, Stone moved to the living room and flipped on the TV. “You coming?”

Shadow hesitated in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “What are you watching?”

“Some old sci-fi rerun."

The episode began, full of dramatic music and over-the-top dialogue. Shadow watched quietly at first, arms crossed, but after ten minutes, he leaned forward ever so slightly. By the fifteen-minute mark, he made a single, dry comment:

“That explosion was physically impossible.”

Stone smirked. “Welcome to television.”

They sat there for a while in a comfortable quiet, punctuated only by occasional snark from Shadow and amused chuckles from Stone. Outside, the night had fully settled, and the fair in Greenhill was winding down—lights dimming, music fading.

Around 10:45, the screen dimmed into credits, and Stone stretched with a yawn. “Alright. I’m heading to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

Shadow nodded. “Noted.”

Stone started down the hall, then paused. “Hey.”

Shadow looked up.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Shadow blinked, not quite sure how to respond. So he gave the barest nod. “Me too.”

And with that, Stone vanished into the hallway. Shadow sat for a bit longer, the bear still tucked in his lap, his mind lingering on the strange rhythm of the day. 

Eventually, he got up and went to his room. The bear came with him.

He placed it on his shelf—strategically, of course, where no one could easily see it. But not too far back.

Just in case.

He stared at it for a moment, arms crossed, then looked out the window toward the stars.

[SONIC]: also, pretty sure that bear’s your soulmate now. keep it safe.

With a small huff, Shadow climbed into bed. He left his phone nearby, screen facing up, just in case another message came in.

Chapter Text

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.

It was also just about the only thing keeping Shadow upright. 

He reached down emphatically for his limiters and clipped them on, excess chaos energy bursting from his seams as his body practically tore itself inside out.

Then he ran, leaving behind the crater which his body had carved out into the earth.

Adrenaline was fading.

Each step forward became heavier, less like flight and more like dragging stone. His chest heaved with shallow, rasping breaths; the world around him twisted with the pulse in his skull. The wind screamed past his ears, a high-pitched howl he couldn’t tell was real or just the dying echo of the Eclipse Cannon’s final surge.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran.

Metal. Straps. Screaming.

His boots skidded against grass and dirt as the terrain shifted underfoot, no longer city, no longer space—just open land, hills rolling like waves beneath a pale morning sky.

A voice, soft and delightfully mischievous, echoed in his mind.

"Psst! Shadow come on! While they're not looking."

Maria.

He clenched his fists tighter around the pressure of chaos energy coiling inside him. His body screamed in protest. Bones trembled, cracks spiderwebbed across his limbs, microscopic at first—then deeper.

The ground rushed up to meet him.

He didn’t even cry out. Just a sudden crash, a trail carved through wildflowers and soft earth. Shadow rolled, dust trailing behind him like smoke until he came to a still, shattered halt in the center of a field. Face-down, breathing shallow.

Gone.

The limiters sparked, one fizzing out entirely. His leg twitched—possibly broken. The white tufts of his chest fur were soaked red.

His vision blurred.

The table again. The restraints. The white light above.

“He’s too strong. Restrain his emotional inhibitors.”

“He’s just a prototype for the real experiment. It doesn’t matter.”

His fists clawed at the ground, weakly. He needed to move.

But he was tired.

God, he was so tired.

The wind blew gently across the field. Dandelions bobbed and seeds scattered like stars from a dying galaxy.

And in the distance, a bird sang.

A normal sound. Peaceful. Undisturbed.

Shadow coughed, tasting iron. He blinked up at the sky, pupils narrowing against the sunlight.

Was this… what dying felt like?

Peaceful.

Was this what Maria had wanted him to see?

He could hear her now—not the screams, not the alarms. But her laughter, her assurances that he was no monster and that he would be okay.

Shadow closed his eyes.

“…I promised,” he rasped.

And then, darkness. Not death. Just unconsciousness.

The world exhaled around him.

He later woke up when the sky was dark, first to a new thrum of pain down his side and then to a flash of light beamed upon his face.

"Shadow?"

Stone—he faintly registered in the back of his mind. The assistant to Gerald's grandson. The one who had served him guacamole and brewed a cup of coffee earlier.

"Kill. Me," Shadow managed to say from a dry throat, taking a ragged breath between each word, as Stone scrambled over to him.

His knees hit the dirt hard as he crouched beside the mangled body of the hedgehog.

“Hey, hey—no, no, don’t say that,” Stone whispered, his voice thick with panic. “You're not dying. Not today.”

He reached out carefully, but even his lightest touch made Shadow flinch. Stone winced in sympathy as the hedgehog’s body spasmed beneath his fingers. Bones shifted under torn skin, muscles twitching involuntarily.

“Damn it,” Stone hissed, pulling off his jacket and gently draping it over Shadow’s shoulders. The field around them was quiet, save for the soft rustling of wind and the low, pained rasp of Shadow's breath.

Shadow's head lolled sideways, cheek dragging against the ground.

Metal restraints. Cold cuffs. The hiss of pneumatic locks snapping shut.

G.U.N. agents in sleek armor. The red light of containment units blinking in the corners of a sterile hallway.

He remembered lunging—fury in his chest, chaos surging through his bones—before the dampeners hit.

Everything turned to static.

Shadow jerked under Stone’s hands. The man had just begun to lift him, cradling him with trembling arms, when Shadow half-roused again with a guttural groan of protest.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” Stone whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. We’ll get you out of here.”

His hand moved to Shadow’s wrist, gently adjusting what remained of a cracked inhibitor. The hedgehog’s arm twitched violently at the touch, chaos energy flaring.

The G.U.N. base.

Blood—his own?—spattered on the floor. A white room. Surveillance feeds cycling through chaos-ridden landscapes. The broken moon.

"Shadow, stay with me,” Stone urged, lifting him into a shaky fireman’s carry. The weight was brutal. Stone was no soldier. Just a government analyst. A coffee guy. But he moved, gritting his teeth as Shadow sagged against his back like a collapsed sun.

They stumbled through the dark field. Fireflies blinked lazily in the night air, oblivious to the pain wrapped around them.

Shadow's head lolled again.

The pod.

Fifty years of silence.

Eyes closed. Limbs still. No heartbeat. No thought. No dreams.

Stone tripped, nearly falling. Shadow slipped from his arms and hit the ground with a grunt that sounded like a half-swallowed scream.

Stone dropped beside him, gasping, “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—just stay awake, okay? Help me help you.”

Shadow blinked slowly. His body felt like shattered glass. Every breath was a sawblade.

“Why… help me…” he rasped.

Stone stared at him, expression full of something that wasn’t pity. Not quite admiration. Just… conviction.

Shadow’s eyes fluttered.

Stone pulled out a communicator from his coat and hissed something into it.

"I take it you have good news for us?"

Stone looked up, blinking in surprise.

"What makes you say that?"

Maddie shut the journal in her lap, giving him an easy look. "You sounded so... I don't know, excited? Over the phone."

Before Stone had the chance to respond, Tom returned with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, placing it promptly in front of the man.

"Not as good as your's, but I hope it gets a passing grade," he said with a grin before taking his seat next to Maddie.

Stone gave a grateful nod to Tom as he picked up the coffee, then glanced between the two of them.

“Tell me something,” he said, stirring the cup absently. “Is it... normal for a kid to ask for a curfew?”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Shadow asked for one?”

Stone nodded slowly. "I thought teenagers were supposed to hate rules.”

Tom let out a short laugh. “Yeah, well, Sonic sure does. First night he moved in, he tried to convince us that bedtime was an outdated social construct.”

Maddie rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “He climbed out the window at 11:30 just to run laps around the house. We had to install motion lights just to catch him.”

“Did it work?” Stone asked.

“No,” they both said in unison.

Tom leaned back in his seat. “But eventually, once he knew we weren’t just trying to control him, he chilled out. He still pushes limits, but it’s more of a game now. Tails, on the other hand—well, he actually made us a schedule. Color-coded. Said it was optimal for sleep and productivity.”

Maddie added, “Knuckles just asked what time he was supposed to stop punching things and went from there.”

Stone cracked a small, surprised smile. “So… I guess there’s no normal then?”

“Nope,” said Maddie. “There’s just what your kid needs. And if Shadow wants a curfew, maybe it’s because he's trying to figure out how to fit into the world. Structure might feel safe to him.”

Tom nodded. “And honestly? That’s a good sign. It means he trusts you enough to help him shape his boundaries.”

Stone looked down into his coffee, something flickering in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe. Or something gentler.

“I’m still figuring out what kind of… I have no idea what I'm doing,” he admitted. “He’s not exactly a typical kid.”

“Neither were ours,” Maddie said softly. “But the important stuff? Patience. Honesty. Showing up when it counts. That’s all you need to focus on.”

Tom gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “And hey—if all else fails, just keep the fridge stocked. That got me at least 70% of the way there.”

That actually made Stone laugh.

“Duly noted.”

"So did you give him that curfew he wanted?"

Stone nodded. "Weekdays 9PM." He paused and looked at them with uncertainty. "Is that reasonable?"

Maddie smiled, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “Honestly? That sounds pretty reasonable to me. Gives him some structure, but doesn’t box him in too tightly.”

Tom added, “Yeah, it’s not like you're grounding him at sundown. Nine’s a good call—late enough to feel like he’s got freedom, early enough that you're not up all night worrying.”

"Yeah, he did seem pretty okay with it, but maybe I should have come up with what would happen if he misses it right then. Not good to keep him guessing is it?"

Maddie shook her head gently. “Not really, no. Boundaries work best when they're clear from the start. Uncertainty can feel like a trap, especially for someone who’s used to being on their own.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “You don’t want him wondering if you’re gonna snap or let it slide. Just give him the lay of the land—what happens if he sticks to it, and what happens if he doesn’t. No drama, just... rules.”

Stone gave a thoughtful nod, fingers wrapped around the warm cup. “Right. I’ll talk to him. Let him know it’s not a punishment thing—it’s just about respect. If he’s late, we talk. If it keeps happening, maybe he loses a bit of freedom until we sort it out.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Maddie said.

Tom raised an eyebrow with a smile. “You sure you don’t know what you’re doing? That sounded a lot like parenting.”

Stone snorted. “Don’t jinx it.”

A beat of silence passed.

"He still doesn’t talk much. Keeps things... close to the chest.”

“So do they occasionally,” Maddie said. “You learn to read the quiet. Sometimes the silences say more than the words.”

Tom nodded. “And sometimes the best thing you can do is just be there. Even if he doesn’t always acknowledge it—he’ll remember who showed up.”

Stone looked between them both, and something like relief crossed his features. “I didn’t think I’d be able to handle this. Still not sure I can.”

“You are,” Maddie said gently. “Just the fact that you're worried about doing it right? That’s half the battle.”

Tom raised his mug. “To learning as we go.”

Stone lifted his coffee and clinked it lightly against Tom’s. “To not messing it up too badly.”

“You’re doing fine,” Maddie said. “Better than fine, actually.”

Stone looked down into his cup again, but this time with a quiet sort of pride.

“Hey, next thing you know, he'll even tell you his favorite pizza flavor,” Tom said.

Stone grimaced. “He only eats plain cheese.”

“Oh yeah,” Tom said with a laugh. “You’re in deep.”

Stone sighed theatrically. “It’s too late for me, isn’t it?”

“Way too late,” Maddie said with a grin. “Welcome to the club.”

"And on today's episode of teaching Shadow about modern technology, we have... the microwave!"

Shadow glared at Sonic indignantly. 

“I know what a microwave is,” he said flatly.

“Sure you do,” Sonic said, grinning as he leaned against the counter with theatrical nonchalance. “That’s why you nearly punched it into another dimension when it beeped at you yesterday.”

“It screeched at me.”

“It beeped.”

“It was aggressive.”

From the kitchen table, Tails snorted into his juice box. “It was literally just finishing your burrito.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “Food should not scream.”

“It beeped!” Sonic and Tails said in unison.

Shadow huffed and turned to the microwave as though facing a long-time rival. It sat innocently on the counter, boxy and beige, humming softly as if daring him to try again.

“Okay,” Sonic said, walking over and slapping a frozen burrito onto the counter in front of him. “Let’s try this again. Step one: open the door. You do remember how doors work, right?”

Shadow didn’t even answer. He grabbed the handle, yanked it open with slightly too much force, and slapped the burrito onto the glass plate inside.

Tails held up a finger. “Wrapper off this time.”

Shadow paused. Then, with great deliberation, unwrapped the burrito and dropped the paper in the trash.

Sonic gave him a slow clap. “Look at you. So advanced.”

Shadow flipped him off without looking.

“Okay, step two: close the door. Gently. This is a kitchen.”

The microwave door clicked shut. Shadow pressed the button marked "1:00", and then "Start."

It began to hum.

He stepped back.

He kept stepping.

Sonic raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s gonna explode or something?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

A few seconds later: BEEP.

Shadow’s hand twitched toward his hip like he was reaching for a Chaos Emerald holster that wasn’t there.

Tails immediately interjected. “That was a normal beep. Completely benign.”

The microwave beeped again. Shadow flinched.

Sonic threw up his hands. “Okay, what exactly do you think it’s going to do? Launch into orbit?”

“I’ve been in space,” Shadow muttered.

“Yeah so have I,” Sonic replied, “and yet this is what breaks you.”

Shadow approached slowly, like defusing a bomb. He opened the microwave, retrieved the steaming burrito, and set it on a plate with a decisive thunk.

Then he stared at it.

“What now?” Tails asked cautiously.

Shadow narrowed his eyes at the burrito. “How do I know it’s done?”

“Bite it,” Sonic said, already chewing on one of his own. “If you scream, it’s not.”

Shadow shot him a murderous glare, but picked up the burrito and took a cautious bite.

He chewed. Swallowed.

The microwave beeped again.

Shadow nodded. “Not bad.”

Tails leaned toward Sonic and whispered, “Should we tell him about the toaster?”

Sonic grinned. “Nah. Let’s save something for Season Two.”

The microwave incident behind them, the trio drifted toward the living room like planets in orbit, pulled by the familiar gravity of the couch and the flickering glow of the TV.

Sonic flopped into the corner cushion, half-wrapped in a blanket with his second juice box of the night in hand. “Can we not watch more documentaries about human civil engineering?”

Tails threw himself onto the middle cushion, legs splayed dramatically over the armrest. “Hey, that bridge one was cool!”

Sonic gave him a look. “It was four hours long. About bolts.”

He shrugged. “I like bolts.”

Shadow sat more stiffly at the edge of the couch, arms crossed when footsteps. Heavy ones, came from thr stairs.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and a deep voice rumbled, “Is that Love Island I hear?”

“Nope, just a boring documentary,” Sonic said, launching himself across the couch to wrestle the remote out of Tails’s hand as Knuckles entered the room.

“Aw, come on!” Tails protested, laughing.

Shadow just blinked at the screen as it flickered between channels. “Love Island? Are they… fighting over mating rights?”

Knuckles nodded, entirely serious. “Yes. The weak are voted off. It is efficient.”

Sonic groaned, “Why is that your takeaway?!”

Shadow tilted his head thoughtfully. “…Brutal. But intriguing.”

“Don’t encourage him!” Sonic yelped, as Knuckles seized the remote and solemnly declared, “We must learn the customs of these humans.”

Tails muttered into his drink, “This is what I get for teaching Knuckles how to use the Roku.”

Within minutes, the room was bathed in pastel light and auto-tuned drama as the contestants on-screen yelled about betrayal and who kissed whom behind the infinity pool.

Shadow leaned back slowly, not even realizing how his posture had begun to mirror the others—shoulders relaxing, legs stretching out, the weight in his limbs feeling less like war and more like gravity.

Eventually, Sonic turned his head and caught his eye.

“C’mon,” he said casually. “Let’s bounce.”

Shadow raised a brow, but got up without a word, following Sonic up the familiar creaky stairs into the attic—Sonic’s sanctuary.

The air was cooler. Softer. The lights were dim, the room aglow with faint blue from string lights pinned to the wooden beams. The moonlight spilled in through the skylight overhead, catching dust like snow in slow motion.

Sonic dropped onto his beanbag chair with a contented sigh. “Tails and Knuckles are gonna be locked in a culture war with reality TV for at least the next hour.”

Shadow remained standing for a moment, looking at the cozy clutter—shelves of comic books, an old record player, various sneakers in a messy pile.

He sat down next to the beanbag, closer than usual. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch, but it was… close. Closer than usual.

Sonic glanced over. “You settling in okay?”

Shadow hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.

“…It’s different,” he admitted. “But not… bad.”

Another pause.

Sonic shifted a little, elbow brushing against Shadow’s arm.

“You know,” he said, voice a little softer, “when you first got here, I didn’t think you’d stick around. Figured you'd vanish after a few days.”

"I considered it,” Shadow replied honestly.

“But you didn’t.”

Shadow looked at him, expression unreadable—but his voice was quieter than before. “No.”

Sonic gave a half-smile. “Kinda glad you didn’t.”

Shadow’s eyes flicked away for a moment. “You’re annoying,” he said flatly.

“You’re emotionally repressed,” Sonic shot back.

Their eyes met again.

The silence came back—but it had changed. Tension crackled under it. Something electric. Something unsure.

Sonic’s grin faltered slightly, his gaze dipping for just a second toward Shadow’s mouth before flicking back up again—quickly, awkwardly.

Shadow’s breath hitched—almost imperceptibly.

They both looked away at the same time.

A beat passed.

“…We should get back downstairs,” Sonic said suddenly, scratching the back of his head again.

“…Right,” Shadow murmured.

Chapter Text

"SUBJECT IS CONSUMING PRESCRIBED DOSAGE NOW."

Slowly and much more deftly than one might expect from a hand crafted of metal alloy and steel, a spoon was tipped into Shadow’s mouth, the contents of which he gladly accepted.

It took some work to get it down his throat. Swallowing still felt wrong, like he was supposed to be swallowing the other way around, but it worked out whenever he let whatever was in his mouth simply find it's way down his throat.

"Thank you," he said with a slight gasp, offering a nod to the robot above him.

"NO NEED TO THANK ME. I WILL NOT APPRECIATE IT. I AM PROGRAMMED ONLY TO SERVE."

Emerl moved with smooth, stilted precision in the background. An old prototype. A humanoid robot with a rounded, catlike head and flickering green optics. Something in its programming had never quite worked right, but it worked well enough to listen and to care, in its own strange, synthetic way.

Shadow lay across a makeshift cot in what had once been a weapons testing room, now repurposed into something resembling a recovery ward. The lights hummed softly, the walls lined with toolkits, worn blueprints, and a corkboard riddled with decades-old notes in Ivo Robotnik’s spiky handwriting. A cracked monitor flickered in the corner, useless except for the gentle ambient glow it cast.

Stone sat beside the cot in a folding chair, elbows on knees, nursing a cup of instant coffee gone cold hours ago. He watched Shadow’s breathing—not quite steady, not yet strong, but better than before.

Inside their safe house, it smelled like dust, coolant, and old memories.

“DOSAGE ADMINISTERED,” Emerl stated, shifting aside and clanking softly as it retreated toward the supply shelf. “VITAL SIGNS: STABILIZING. SYSTEMS EFFICIENCY: 37%. PROJECTED RECOVERY: SLOW.”

Shadow coughed quietly, pressing a hand to his side. The pressure didn’t hurt as much as before—just a dull throb, like a bruise carved into the bone.

“Emerl,” Stone said after a while, voice quiet and scratchy, “do you have any record of Ivo’s old chaos containment methods? Maybe some non-invasive ones?”

The robot’s head swiveled around with a chirp. “NEGATIVE. FILES ON CHAOS ENERGY CONTAINMENT WERE MARKED ‘IRRELEVANT’ AND PURGED IN YEAR 20XX.”

As he had correctly deduced, Shadow’s body was perfectly capable of healing itself, even if such enhancements tended to make the whole process far more painful. As things stood, without a way of fixing the imbalance of chaos energy within Shadow, all Stone could do was fill the hedgehog with whatever years old pain medication he had been able to find in the bathroom cabinet.

Shadow leaned his head back against the cot, eyes half-lidded as he listened to the conversation unfold like a half-forgotten dream. An unstable residue tangled in his nerves. Like shards of lightning crawling beneath his skin. Not enough to fight with. Too much to rest easy.

There was a pause. Emerl blinked slowly in the dim light.

“I think you’re burning out,” Stone said finally, hesitant. “Like an overloaded circuit. All this energy—you’re not processing it right anymore. The limiters can’t keep up.”

“Sooooo... fixsssss... me," Shadow all but slurred through his words.

“I’m trying,” Stone assured, running a hand through his hair. “I am. But I can’t just pull schematics out of my ass and rebuild fifty-year-old cybernetic stabilizers with duct tape and wishful thinking.”

Emerl beeped softly from the shelf. “I CAN ASSIST.”

“The Doctor's notes said that you were built to fetch coffee,” Stone muttered.

“I HAVE SINCE UPGRADED.”

Stone gave the robot a tired look. “While collecting dust. Yes. I’m sure you have.”

There was another long silence. Dust drifted through the faint shafts of morning light filtering through the cracked blinds. Shadow stared at the ceiling, thinking of stars, laboratories, death. Rebirth. The weight of promises. The way Maria used to hum whenever he was around.

He shifted slightly, the movement barely more than a twitch. Even that was enough to restart the dull roar of static in his limbs.

The silence pressed against him like gravity.

Emerl paused mid-motion. The soft click of its servos halted.

Its optics flickered. Once. Twice.

A low chime sounded from its chest cavity, a pulse of light blinking erratically.

"UPDATE," Emerl announced abruptly, voice garbled at the edges. “ARCHIVAL DATA FOUND. SYSTEMS SCANNING… ACCESSING… FILES LABELED: PROJECT SHADOW – STABILIZATION FAILSAFE.”

Stone sat up straighter, nearly spilling his cold coffee.

“Wait what? You just said they were purged.”

“CORRECTION: PRIMARY FILES WERE PURGED. BACKUP FILES WERE HIDDEN.”

Stone was already on his feet. “Hidden where?”

Emerl tilted its head, optics shifting to a warmer hue.

“WITHIN SUBDIRECTORY: ‘DOCTOR GERALD’S GUILT BOX.’”

“…That is so on brand,” Stone muttered.

The robot’s torso opened with a quiet clunk, revealing a flickering, dusty holo-projector. A string of symbols and decaying file paths streamed across the wall like ghost code.

A grainy recording blinked into life.

Gerald Robotnik stood in front of a chalkboard. Older. Greyer. Worn. The recording flickered like a dying lightbulb.

“If you're watching this,” Gerald began, “then Shadow’s systems have likely destabilized under chaos strain."

Stone blinked. Shadow barely moved, but one brow twitched.

Gerald sighed in the recording. “Unfortunately, there is no miracle cure for this. Only one practical solution exists."

He stepped aside. On the board behind him, he had scrawled:

SHADOW RECOVERY PROTOCOL

– Low stimulation

– No combat

– Regular sleep

– Gentle environment

– Chicken soup

The video cut out.

Silence returned.

Emerl’s chest closed with a gentle shhhk.

Stone stared at the space where Gerald’s face had just been.

“…That’s it?” he said eventually. “No recalibration protocols? No schematics? No DNA-spliced chaos inhibitors?”

“CORRECT,” Emerl said helpfully. “RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION: FEED SUBJECT SOUP AND LEAVE HIM ALONE.”

Stone glanced at Shadow. The hedgehog was glaring faintly through half-lidded eyes, face caught somewhere between confusion and mild disdain. Mostly confusion at his continued existence.

“Well,” Stone said, already heading for the kitchen corner, “I'm gonna go make some soup.”

Emerl beeped cheerfully.

“I WILL WATCH HIM WHILE YOU PREPARE THE BROTH OF HEALING.”

“Not calling it that,” Stone muttered.

But his smile at his newfound solution still lingered anyway.

Dust still hung in the air. Shadow still ached. The static was still there.

Grocery store runs had quickly become something which Shadow was rather fond of doing alongside Stone.

When he had first recovered enough to start walking around again, the last thing he had wanted to do was leave the house, especially given that they were in Greenhill.

The air too clean, the people too friendly. There were too many memories buried in the horizon—too much sunlight filtering through green trees that made his mind go quiet in unfamiliar ways.

But eventually, Stone had all but dragged him from the warm familiarity of the house, pulled out a list, and said:

“You’re getting the soup with me this time.”

Months later, it was only another part of a simple routine.

Stone was looking for parking—some over-optimistic battle against an entirely full lot and at least four compact sedans parked like their drivers had never passed geometry. Shadow stood beside the car, list in hand, watching the doors to the market open and close like the maw of some calm, over-air-conditioned beast.

“I’ll be ten minutes,” Stone said, tapping the wheel. “Unless I die of rage first. Then just pay yourself.” 

He handed Shadow his debit card, which the hedgehog held like an ancient airloom.

“Get the brand I like.”

“You mean the one that tastes like boiled cardboard?”

“I mean the one that doesn’t have MSG.”

“Coward,” Shadow said, and then he walked off, slipping into the store without another word.

The air hit him like a cold fog—lemon-scented, mildly oppressive. Muzak trickled through overhead speakers. A toddler screamed somewhere in the distance, and the bakery display glared at him like it was trying to upsell him on donuts. Shadow ignored it all and scanned the list.

Canned soup. Fruit. Rice. One bottle of that suspiciously green smoothie Stone liked. Emerl’s favorite canned oil—which it swore had nutritional integrity, though Shadow suspected it just tasted faintly of battery acid.

He started with the soup.

A woman pushing a cart did a double take as he passed, her eyes flicking over everything from his red-striped fur to the slight limp still present in his step. Her toddler pointed and said “Cool dog.”

Shadow kept walking.

It wasn’t that he minded being seen—it was just that being perceived still made his skin itch in a way he hadn’t yet figured out how to fix. Too many years of being a myth, or worse, a weapon. Only around Sonic, did he not feel like a prisoner in his own skin whenever people stared and pointed.

The soup aisle was unassuming. Dimly lit. Rows of sterile aluminum cans. He found the one they’d been buying—spicy chicken noodle—and picked up three.

Shadow paused for a moment, holding the cans in one hand while glancing down the length of the aisle. The store was mercifully quiet here. Just the soft rustle of shelves being restocked and the faint hum of the refrigeration units.

He moved forward without much thought. Toward the end of the aisle, he stopped at a familiar display and reached up to grab a bag of dark roast coffee beans, the kind Stone liked but always forgot to buy.

He hesitated, then reached further back for the one he preferred—harsher, almost burnt, the taste sharp enough to cut through the haze of bad mornings and restless nights. Into the basket it went.

Shadow allowed himself a small breath of satisfaction. Not because it mattered, really. But because he could.

He turned the corner and passed by the snacks aisle. His gait slowed. A shelf of chocolate-covered espresso beans caught his eye. He didn’t really need them. But they were good. He remembered the first time he’d picked them up because Stone had practically insisted.

"We’re not leaving this store until you get something for yourself, and I swear if you say 'I don’t need anything' again, I’ll throw a bag of marshmallows at you."

Back then, Shadow had stood there with the same stubborn stillness he wore like armor. Something about the freedom of choice—it had felt foreign. Unnerving. Like an empty room after years of alarms and commands.

Now, he picked up the espresso beans and dropped them into the cart like it was nothing.

Next aisle: rice. He grabbed the jasmine kind, the one Emerl liked to overcook until it fused into a vaguely food-like paste. Then fruit. Bananas for Stone. Apples for balance. A single pomegranate for himself, which he’d learned to like.

He passed a display of stuffed plush toys—seasonal stock for some upcoming holiday—and let his mind linger on the prized bear Sonic had won him the other day until he reached the refrigerated section and remembered the smoothie. He grabbed the green bottle, then one of the blue kind too, for reasons he didn’t examine too closely.

Shadow paused before the registers, eyeing the cluster of check-out lines like a soldier scanning a battlefield. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the tile floor and the long stretch of conveyor belts. A teenager manned register five, chewing gum with the kind of glazed expression that only came from corporate-induced time dilation. Shadow veered toward the self-checkout instead.

He took a deep breath. His lungs still felt too tight sometimes, as though waves of chaos energy were coiled somewhere beneath his ribs, waiting to surge. But it held.

He scanned the cans first. Each one gave a soft, mechanical beep as it passed over the reader. Then the fruit, the coffee, the rice. The espresso beans. Last, the smoothies. They tumbled into the bag with the same quiet finality as fallen dominos.

The machine chirped its total. Shadow fished the debit card out of his quills with practiced care. He held it like it might bite. The screen blinked at him.

PLEASE INSERT OR TAP CARD.

He tapped.

A beat passed. Then another.

APPROVED. THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT STARLITE MARKET.

Shadow let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The bag felt heavy, but manageable. He slung it over one arm, stepping away from the checkout and toward the sliding doors that parted with a whisper.

Outside, the afternoon sun was warm against his fur. He blinked at the brightness, the noise, the smell of pavement and distant burgers from the strip mall diner.

Stone was just pulling into a spot at the edge of the lot, one hand raised in a mock salute of survival. Shadow gave a small nod in return and began walking toward the car.

He opened the car door.

“Got everything?” Stone asked, already adjusting the AC to full blast.

Shadow tossed the bag onto the back seat with a soft thud. “Yes.”

“And the good coffee?”

Shadow raised a brow. “Define good.”

Stone laughed. “Emerl’s been rubbing off on you. Buckle in.”

As they pulled away from the curb, Shadow rested his head back against the seat, eyes closing just for a moment as the wind rustled through the cracked window.

"I really like you."

Sonic frowned at his reflection in the cracked attic mirror.

“No, no, too soft,” he muttered, shaking his head. He struck a new pose—arms crossed, eyebrows raised, the picture of cool confidence. “Yo. Shadow. I like-like you.”

He winced immediately. “What am I, twelve?”

He dropped his arms with a groan and flopped back onto the old beanbag shoved up there years ago, staring at the sloped ceiling like it had answers. Dust motes swirled in the late afternoon light. Somewhere downstairs, a microwave beeped.

Sonic sat back up and pointed accusingly at the mirror again. “Okay, listen, Shadow. I’ve fought you, I’ve raced you, I’ve saved the world with you, and I think… maybe I’d like to try doing none of that for once. Maybe just... maybe something more."

The silence after that hung thick enough to slice.

He clutched his face in both hands. “Why is this so hard?! I’ve said cooler things in the middle of explosions!”

He didn’t hear the attic door creak open until it was too late.

“…Sonic?”

Tom’s voice cut through the spiral of embarrassment like a lightning bolt. Sonic froze mid-groan.

“…Heyyyy,” he said without turning around. “How long have you been standing there?”

Tom raised an eyebrow from the top step, holding a laundry basket. "I just got here. Is there a reason I should have been standing here?"

"No. Nope. No reason at all."

"If you say so," Tom conceded with a shrug. "Where's your baseball jersey? That thing was reeking the last time I saw it."

He stepped further into the attic, tossing a glance around like he was half-afraid the place might collapse on him. He set the laundry basket down on a dusty trunk and started rummaging through a pile of clothes Sonic had definitely meant to deal with two weeks ago.

“You know, this whole being a hero thing doesn’t exempt you from learning how to use a washing machine,” Tom said as he pulled a balled-up sock from under a game controller. “Or folding."

“I’ve been busy,” Sonic mumbled, still hunched on the beanbag.

Tom chuckled and plucked a crumpled blue jersey from the floor. “Found it. This thing’s probably a biohazard. I’m putting it through the wash twice.”

Tom raised the jersey in mock horror, giving it a cautious sniff before deciding better of it and stuffing it into the basket like it might explode.

He turned toward the door, dusting off his hands. “Alright. I’ll be downstairs if you want to confess to any more laundry crimes.”

“Wait.”

Tom paused, hand on the attic doorknob.

Sonic was still sitting on the beanbag, ears tilted back slightly, eyes locked on a scuff mark on the floorboards.

“…Yeah?” Tom asked, his voice softening.

Sonic hesitated. His fingers fidgeted with a frayed thread on the cuff of his glove.

“Can I ask you something? Kinda… weird?”

Tom let go of the door. “Always.”

Sonic still didn’t look at him. “How’d you, uh… how’d you ask Maddie out? The first time?”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just surprised.

Then Tom smiled, stepping back into the room.

“Oh man. You really wanna know?”

Sonic nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

Tom set the basket down again, leaned against the old trunk with an amused sigh. “Okay. So, this was back in college. I’d had a crush on Maddie for months, but I kept chickening out. I kept telling myself, She’s too cool. She’s out of my league. She’s way smarter than me. You know. The usual nonsense.”

Sonic gave a faint, embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah. That sounds… relatable.”

“So one day,” Tom continued, “she’s working on this anatomy project in the library, and I walk in with the absolute worst pickup line known to man. Something like: Hey, I know a lot about hearts, too. Mostly mine. It’s been acting weird whenever I see you.”

Sonic blinked, deadpan. “No.”

“Oh yes. Full crash and burn. She laughed so hard, Sonic. And I was ready to just melt into the carpet right there. But then she smiled at me—this big, bright smile—and said, Okay, dork. You’re buying me coffee for that one.”

“…That worked?"

“Surprisingly, yeah.” Tom laughed again. “Because it was honest. It was me. Dumb and awkward and trying anyway.”

Sonic finally looked up at him, expression unreadable for a second. Then: “Hypothetically... if someone had a friend who liked someone, but they didn’t know how to say it... what would you tell them?”

Tom tilted his head. “Is this friend blue, fast, and sitting on a beanbag full of potato chip crumbs?”

Sonic buried his face in his hands. “Hypothetically.”

Tom smirked, but his tone was gentle. “I’d tell him to stop overthinking it. There’s no perfect line. No perfect moment. Just be real. Say what you feel. People can tell when something’s genuine.”

Sonic peeked at him through his fingers. “…Even if it comes out weird?”

“Especially if it comes out weird,” Tom said, pushing off the trunk. “Weird is honest. Honest is good.”

Sonic sat there in silence for a while after Tom left, the attic door clicking shut behind him.

Then he looked back at the mirror, stood up, and tried again.

“Shadow… I like you. And not just the I’d cover for you during a government raid kind of like.”

He paused.

Then he smiled.

“…But also that kind.”

Chapter Text

"C'mon!" Stone tried to reason from the other side of the room. "I've kept you alive this whole time!"

He stood by the doorway, arms raised cautiously, watching the faint static crackle at Shadow’s fingertips. Bright red chaos lightning danced between them.

"I said stay back," Shadow rasped.

He was propped against the far wall, blankets kicked aside, eyes sunken with exhaustion but sharp now. Alert enough to be dangerous again. 

“You haven’t eaten in twelve hours.”

"I don't need to eat."

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You’re very wrong.”

A burst of chaos surged from Shadow’s palm, fast as a whip. It struck the wall near the ceiling, a harmless warning shot—but enough to make the lightbulb flicker and pop.

Stone flinched, but only a little.

Emerl, standing off to the side with a tray of nutrient paste and a non-functioning spoon, chirped hesitantly. “THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE. HUNGER LEVEL: EXTREME. RECOMMENDATION: INTERVENTION VIA COMBAT SNUGGLING.”

Stone gave the robot a flat look. “Do not make up protocols.”

Emerl flickered. “ACKNOWLEDGED. REVERTING TO STANDBY MODE.” It shuffled two steps back and stilled.

Across the room, Shadow’s fingers twitched again—more lightning hissed into the floor. His hands were trembling.

“Don’t come any closer,” he repeated.

He looked smaller, curled against the wall, clutching his own arm like he could keep himself from unraveling. His quills were dull. His skin dim. The lightning fizzled at his fingertips but didn’t fly.

Stone didn’t move.

The air crackled between them, humming with chaotic tension and burnt ozone. Shadow looked like a coiled wire on the verge of snapping. One more wrong move and Stone knew he'd either be dodging a plasma blast or scraping melted drywall off his shirt.

Still, he took a slow breath and tried again. “I get it. You’re overloaded. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Shadow snapped, though the way his voice broke halfway through the sentence betrayed him.

His knees were drawn up close, one arm braced across his chest like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower. The chaos energy fizzled weakly again, tracing jagged lines up his arms.

“I’m not…” he added through gritted teeth, "...weak.”

“I never said you were,” Stone replied, quieter now. “But you’re not at one hundred percent. I’ve seen enough circuits burn out to know when something’s about to fry itself from the inside out."

A long silence reigned before a pop signaled that another bulb went out above them, plunging half the room in shadow.

Emerl’s optics flickered brighter in the dimness. Without a word, the robot turned toward the busted TV monitor in the corner and extended a small data cable from its forearm with a cheerful chirp.

A click.

Static.

Then the screen warmed to life.

"Little house, on the prairie…”

The warm, cheerful instrumental floated through the broken lab like an alien from another planet.

Shadow’s head jerked toward the screen, startled.

Bright, unnatural color bloomed across the glass, clearer than anything he remembered. He blinked.

Laura ran down the hill in a blur of nostalgic sun-faded dresses and golden light.

Shadow blinked slowly at the screen, the flickering chaos around his fingertips dimming with each frame that passed. His breath caught—not from pain this time, but from something else. Something unfamiliar.

The music continued, almost offensively gentle.

Onscreen, the little girl laughed and stumbled through tall grass. Her arms flailed, all warmth and joy and clumsy motion. The golden-hour glow bathed everything in that strange, unreal softness—like the entire world had been dipped in honey.

Shadow didn’t move at first. His knees were still tucked close, body taut, like he didn’t trust himself not to shatter again.

But the chaos didn’t spike.

Instead, the lines of red along his arms began to fade, drawn back beneath his skin like retreating sparks.

A soft whir broke the moment.

Emerl moved again—slowly, carefully—and with all the gravitas of a royal butler, it stepped up beside Shadow and draped a slightly frayed blanket over his shoulders.

A moment later, he leaned—barely perceptibly—into Emerl’s side.

The robot made a soft, pleased ding, then sat down cross-legged beside him. Its optics dimmed to a comfortable, warm green.

Across the room, Stone finally let out the breath he’d been holding. His shoulders dropped.

He turned, quietly, and padded off toward the far corner of the lab where the emergency hot plate and a stack of dusty soup cans waited.

"C'mon, it's the season finale. Just one more episode."

Shadow sat hunched on the ratty couch, legs tucked beneath him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. His eyes were sharp, predatory even, fixed on the paused screen where the Shogun logo burned with dramatic intensity. His voice was low, insistent—borderline desperate.

Emerl stood just to the side, arms folded with robotic finality. “REQUEST DENIED. DAILY VIEWING LIMIT HAS BEEN EXCEEDED.”

“It’s the finale,” Shadow repeated. “Finale. Singular. Denying it now is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“CLARIFICATION: CRUEL IS NOT A FUNCTION I AM PROGRAMMED TO PROCESS. UNUSUAL IS SUBJECTIVE.”

“You’re subjective,” Shadow muttered darkly, eyes not leaving the screen.

“FALSE. I AM AN AUTONOMOUS SUPPORT UNIT OPERATING ON LOGICAL PARAMETERS.”

Shadow inhaled deeply, slowly, clearly summoning some ancient reserve of patience. “Emerl. The episode is sixty three minutes. That’s barely over the limit. Stone would understand.”

“NEGATIVE. STONE EXPLICITLY STATED ‘NO MORE THAN THREE HOURS OF TELEVISION ON WEEKDAYS UNLESS I’M HERE TO SUPERVISE.’ ADDITIONALLY, SHOGUN CONTAINS THEMES OF MATURE POLITICAL INTRIGUE, GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE, AND HISTORICAL NUDITY. ALL ABOVE YOUR RATING CLEARANCE.”

“I am a genetically engineered bioweapon with the accumulated knowledge of three languages, multiple combat styles, and firsthand experience with planetary annihilation,” Shadow snapped. “I think I can handle historical nudity.”

“STATEMENT NOTED,” Emerl said with polite, infuriating calm. “RATING DENIED.”

Shadow let out a quiet, furious noise—not quite a growl, not quite a whine. The blanket slipped from his shoulder.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “You win.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED.”

Then, in a whisper: “I’ll tell Stone about the vase.”

Emerl’s optics blinked. “SPECIFY: WHICH VASE.”

“The one you broke last week and tried to hide under the rug in the hallway.”

Emerl’s internal fans spun up audibly, whirring like a distant, panicked hum.

“STATEMENT: THAT WAS A STRUCTURAL ACCIDENT CAUSED BY SLIPPERY SURFACES AND A POORLY PLACED PLANT.”

“Statement,” Shadow echoed mockingly, “Stone loved that plant."

“THREAT DETECTED,” Emerl replied coldly.

“Threat confirmed,” Shadow shot back.

The robot stared at him. Its optics narrowed into precise slits, glowing a little brighter.

“YOU WOULDN'T.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, cool and unbothered. “Try me.”

Another long pause.

Then Emerl exhaled a mechanical sigh so expressive it could have come from a tired librarian on their third shift. Its arm extended. The remote control, previously tucked neatly in its chassis, clicked into view and floated mid-air.

“ONE EPISODE. SIXTY THREE MINUTES.”

Shadow seized the remote with swift precision, smirk widening. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The screen flickered back to life with the dramatic crescendo of the Shogun theme.

Emerl settled down beside him again, arms still crossed. “THIS SETS A DANGEROUS PRECEDENT.”

Shadow didn’t respond. He was too busy watching a daimyo get decapitated in slow motion. But a faint, content murmur escaped him as he leaned deeper into the couch cushions.

The episode progressed in a blur of silk robes, blood-stained blades, and whispered betrayals. Shadow didn’t blink once. His eyes tracked every movement, analyzing tactics, angles, decisions—silent admiration lingering on the warlord’s ruthlessness.

It ended on a cliffhanger—blood splattered across rice paper, a child hidden in a cabinet, the sound of a shamisen twanging just as the screen cut to black.

Shadow didn’t blink. He sat frozen for a long moment, his hand slack on the remote, the afterglow of violence still fresh in his eyes.

Then he exhaled, quietly. Slowly enough that it almost qualified as a sigh.

Emerl, who hadn’t moved from its post at the far end of the couch, finally stirred. 

“OBSERVATION: YOU WERE NOT ALWAYS THIS ATTRACTED TO VIOLENCE.”

Shadow didn’t look over. He reached for the blanket that had slipped partway off during the episode and pulled it back over his shoulders like armor. “You didn’t stop me.”

“CLARIFICATION: MY ROLE IS TO SUPPORT, NOT TO CENSOR.”

“Exactly.”

“BUT SUPPORT DOES NOT MEAN SILENCE.”

Shadow finally glanced sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“IT MEANS,” Emerl said, more gently now, “YOU NEVER LIKED VIOLENCE. NOT EVEN BACK THEN.”

A pause.

Shadow’s brow furrowed faintly, irritation gathering behind his eyes like a storm. “And what would you know about back then?”

Emerl’s gaze didn’t waver. Its voice was soft, almost clinical. “I POSSESS EXTENSIVE RECORDS. AUDIO LOGS. OBSERVATION NOTES. SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE. ALL COLLECTED FROM THE GUN FACILITY. MOST OF IT UNCLASSIFIED AFTER THE FALL OF CENTRAL COMMAND. I HAVE INDEXED 14,391 MINUTES OF YOUR EARLY LIFE.”

Shadow said nothing. He didn’t move.

“YOU NEVER ONCE INITIATED COMBAT WITHOUT PROMPTING,” Emerl continued. “YOUR PHYSIOLOGICAL RESPONSE TO HARM—PARTICULARLY INFLICTED HARM—WAS ELEVATED BEYOND NORMAL DISTRESS THRESHOLDS. INCREASED HEARTBEAT. PUPIL DILATION. TENSION IN THE SHOULDERS AND HANDS. GUILT REACTIONS IN THE VENTROMEDIAL PREFRONTAL CORTEX. YOU FLINCHED WHEN OTHERS WERE HURT. EVEN WHEN YOU WERE THE ONE HURTING THEM.”

“You sound awfully confident for someone reading a bunch of files.”

“CORRECTION: THEY ARE NOT JUST FILES. THEY ARE PATTERNS. AND PATTERNS DO NOT LIE.”

Shadow didn’t respond right away. His eyes were fixed on the dark screen, but his grip on the blanket tightened.

“Maybe I changed,” he muttered finally. “Maybe I learned better.”

“OR MAYBE,” Emerl replied, tilting its head, “YOU’RE STILL LEARNING. SLOWLY. STUBBORNLY. DRAMATICALLY.”

Shadow shot the robot a sidelong glare. “That supposed to be comforting?”

“I AM NOT PROGRAMMED FOR COMFORTING. BUT I AM TOLD MY HONESTY BUILDS CHARACTER.”

There was a brief pause. Emerl’s optics flickered, running a new line of code.

“MAY I INQUIRE AS TO WHY 84% OF YOUR RECENT SEARCH HISTORY INVOLVES SONIC THE HEDGEHOG?”

Shadow’s spine stiffened so suddenly it was nearly audible.

“What?” he said, too quickly.

“QUERY: ‘SONIC THE HEDGEHOG PROFILE IMAGE HEIGHT REAL NAME FAMILY.’ FOLLOWED BY: ‘SONIC THE HEDGEHOG BIRTHDAY GIFT IDEAS FOR COOL FRIENDS NOT WEIRD.’ ALSO: ‘SONIC LAUGHS COMPILATION.’”

“I was curious,” Shadow hissed, ears turning a vivid shade of red that even the blanket couldn’t hide. “I’m allowed to be curious.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED. HOWEVER, THE SEARCH ‘DOES SONIC LIKE GRAPES OR IS THAT JUST ME’ SEEMS LESS OBJECTIVE. YOU ARE AWARE THAT GOOGLE IS NOT CAPABLE OF ANSWERING PERSONAL QUESTIONS CORRECT? THAT IS WHAT I AM FOR.”

“I will disassemble you,” Shadow growled.

Emerl made a cheerful ding. “THREAT LEVEL: MINIMAL. BLUSH LEVEL: PEAK.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Without a word, he reached forward, hit the manual override button tucked just beneath Emerl’s collar panel, and held it.

“POWERING—” Emerl began, then cut off mid-sentence.

Silence.

Shadow exhaled sharply and slumped back into the couch, burying half his face in the blanket. Ten seconds. That was all he needed.

Just ten seconds of blessed peace.

He stared at the screen’s black reflection, forced the warmth down from his cheeks, and muttered to himself, “Stupid robot…”

A beat.

Then a faint whirrr.

Emerl’s eyes flicked back on, glowing green.

“…VIOLATION: UNAUTHORIZED SHUTDOWN DETECTED. REPORTING TO STONE IN 3… 2…”

Shadow sat bolt upright. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“ONE.”

“I will unplug your arms,” Shadow hissed.

"I WOULD NOT HESITATE TO INCLUDE THAT IN MY REPORT,” Emerl replied sweetly.

Shadow groaned and flopped back into the cushions with theatrical misery. “Go charge or something.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED. INITIATING FAKE CHARGING CYCLE IN OPPOSITE CORNER OF ROOM TO GIVE YOU ILLUSION OF PRIVACY.”

The robot padded away obediently, plugging into a nearby outlet and adopting a serene, “dormant” pose—one optic still faintly cracked open, obviously still watching.

Shadow didn’t bother acknowledging it.

He reached for the remote again, queued up a documentary about wilderness survival, and settled deeper under the blanket. Something about near-death frostbite and emotional breakthroughs in the Yukon felt more manageable than the whirlwind of emotions he would otherwise be forced to deal with.

He hit play.

And didn’t look back.

The bell above the door chimed with its usual broken squeak.

Stone didn’t even look up from where he was restocking biscotti jars behind the counter. “Welcome to the Mean Bean,” he said automatically. 

“Yo.”

That got his attention.

Stone straightened, blinked once, and then narrowed his eyes at the unmistakable blur of blue now hovering near the pastry case.

Sonic stood there with a casual slouch, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket like he hadn’t sprinted here at speeds approaching Mach 1. His eyes flicked to the chalkboard menu, then back to Stone, then up at the menu again like he was doing some very serious math.

“You,” Stone said warily, “are not supposed to be within twenty feet of a grinder. We agreed.”

“We didn’t agree,” Sonic corrected. “You yelled, and I laughed, and then you banned me for a week.”

Stone stared at him. “You blew the lid off the machine. We’re still finding beans in the ceiling tiles.”

Sonic leaned forward onto the counter, all too relaxed. “Look, I’m not here to break your coffee maker this time, scout’s honor. I’m just here to… y’know. Buy something.”

Stone crossed his arms. “From the Mean Bean. Where everything is overpriced and overcaffeinated.”

Sonic nodded. “Exactly.”

“Okay. What do you want?”

Sonic took a breath and launched into it like a dare. “Quad-shot oat milk caramel macchiato with two pumps of vanilla, one pump hazelnut, extra foam, cinnamon on top—but only half a sprinkle, not the full one, I’m not a monster—and if you can do the heart design with the milk art, I want that too. Upside down.”

A long silence.

Stone blinked slowly. “You want sugar with that sugar?”

“I want a little chaos in my cup.”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “You do know you’re not immortal, right?”

Sonic grinned. “You sure? ‘Cause I feel pretty fast.”

Stone started prepping the espresso machine anyway, muttering under his breath. “I’d never let Shadow drink this.”

“Oh, believe me,” Sonic replied, digging into his pocket, “I know.” With a deliberate flourish, he slapped a few crumpled ten-dollar bills onto the counter—more than enough to cover the drink. “Don’t worry about the change.”

Stone eyed the money, then Sonic. “Alright. But if your heart gives out halfway through, I am not doing CPR.”

“You say that now,” Sonic said, stepping back with a satisfied hum, “but you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Stone snorted. “Maybe. If you leave behind a decent tip.”

As the drink machine hissed and frothed behind the counter, Sonic wandered to the far corner of the café, flopped down in a chair that had seen better years, and propped his feet up on the table. His posture was nonchalant—laid-back, cool, unaffected.

But his eyes never left Stone.

Not once.

Stone slid the lid onto the monstrosity of a drink with an exasperated little flourish and passed it across the counter with all the care of someone delivering a ticking time bomb. “Drink it fast before it becomes sentient."

Sonic grabbed it with both hands like it was a divine relic. “Bless you.”

“You say that like you’re not about to hit the stratosphere.”

“Listen,” Sonic said, already sipping and making a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a purr, “if I go down, I go down tasting caramelized perfection.”

Stone watched him for a moment—legs kicked up, cup cradled like a trophy, and that jittery stillness that only Sonic seemed capable of.

Then he narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Out with it.”

Sonic blinked. “Out with what?”

“You’ve been watching me like I’m going to sprout wings or explode. You don’t come here to pay for overpriced sugar bombs unless you want something.” Stone gestured vaguely. “So, what is it? Intel? Tech support? Do you need help sneaking Shadow out for a date?”

Sonic coughed into his drink.

“I—what?”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I wouldn’t stop you, but I’d appreciate a heads-up if the living chaos battery I’ve been trying to adopt decides to elope.”

“I’m not—he’s not—elope?” Sonic sputtered, setting the cup down so fast the foam puffed out of the lid.

“Okay,” Stone said, folding his arms. “Then why are you here?”

Sonic hesitated for half a second too long. “What’s Shadow’s favorite color?”

Stone blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Sonic leaned forward again, dead serious now. “His favorite color. Like, for real. Not red. That’s default. I mean favorite.”

Stone stared.

Sonic didn’t flinch.

“You came all the way here. With that drink order. To ask me that?”

“I had a list,” Sonic said, fishing a crumpled post-it note from his pocket and unfolding it with the care of someone defusing a bomb. “Hold on.”

Stone took it automatically and scanned it.

In Sonic’s unmistakable chicken scratch:

> – Fav color

> – Fav food (not soup, actual fav)

> – Likes dogs??

> – Cats??

> – Anime y/n?

> – Is he ticklish

> – Don't ask the ticklish thing out loud (crap)

Stone looked back up slowly. “You absolute disaster.”

“Hey,” Sonic protested, cheeks slightly pink. “I’m trying. I’m not good at… this.”

“Clearly,” Stone muttered, holding up the note. “Is this your version of flirting? Market research?”

“I call it due diligence,” Sonic said with a little more bite. “It’s not like he tells anyone anything. You know him. You practically cohabitate.”

Stone stared at him for a long beat. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Dead serious.”

“Yes.”

“About Shadow.”

“Yes!”

“Well,” Stone said, folding the note and slipping it into his pocket, “I’m not saying he’ll ever admit it, but I think you’re already his favorite color.”

Sonic blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” Stone leaned his elbows on the counter. “His actual favorite is cobalt. Deep blue. Bordering on black. You know, like someone’s fur I could mention.”

Sonic flushed.

“And his favorite food’s pomegranate seeds,” Stone continued casually. “He pretends they’re annoying to eat. Always buys them anyway. Emerl caught him hoarding the good ones once. We never brought it up again.”

“Dogs?”

“He doesn’t trust anything more hyper than he is. Cats are tolerable. Mostly he just tolerates Emerl.”

“Anime?”

“One Piece. But don’t tell him I told you.”

“Wait, seriously?” Sonic beamed. “You’re an actual goldmine.”

Stone gave him a look. “Don't let this become a regular thing and no, I’m not answering the ticklish question.”

Sonic coughed. “Fair.”

They stood in silence a moment longer. The café’s music looped into something jazzy and obscure.

Finally, Sonic nodded. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure.”

“Can I bring him a smoothie next time?”

“He’ll act like he hates it. But yeah.”

Sonic grabbed his drink and headed for the door, just barely resisting the urge to do a victory lap. As he pushed it open, the bell gave its broken wheeze of protest again.

“Hey, Sonic?” Stone called.

“Yeah?”

“If you hurt him,” Stone said, voice flat, “Emerl’s going to tell him about your search history.”

Sonic went pale. “How would it even—”

“You use our wifi every time you come over."