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“You’re restless.”
“I kno—ow,” Sonic whined. “You try to turn into a wolf!”
He knew perfectly well that he was restless! Curling and uncurling on the black hedgehog’s lap. He did not need this guy to remind him. He just could not help it!
Of course, it was not just the fragment awakening. He never quite understood why the black hedgehog would willingly live in Central City. Sure, he had always been a wanderer at heart; growing up on a small phantom island did that to a ‘hog, and blue winds were not known for settling in one place. For centuries, his ancestors dwelt in the plains and the forests, made of trees, not of braided steel.
But there was also this lingering fragment, the one belonging to Dark Gaia, stuck inside of him since he had first been turned into the Werehog. And every full moon, when Sonic ran to Shadow’s place, it made it clear it hated the city. There was always this strange, alien feeling resurfacing, at the edge of his thoughts, like a fish trying to grab a bite of the sun; a feeling of being trapped, imprisoned under the concrete.
In Sonic’s own, very objective opinion, he had the right to be restless. It was not just the rare proximity to Shadow… Though Sonic could not deny it was part of it.
Besides, as soon as he managed to command his body to still, it was his mouth which started moving, almost against his will. “So. How did it feel?”
Shadow pressed a finger against the back of the blue hedgehog’s neck, tip as sharp as a needle. Sonic physically felt the fragment go down, diffuse to the rest of his limbs. Last time he had turned, alone, he had managed to make a knot of one of his own arms. Not a super-pleasant experience.
“How did what feel?”
“You know,” Sonic went on, “the first time you transformed into…?” He figuratively splayed his hand open, moving his fingers in a rhythm, akin to the tentacles of a squid.
Shadow, the blue hedgehog had learned over the last few months, had an impressive range of hmpfs to his vocabulary. The one he just made definitely meant: we don’t need to talk.
Sonic frowned, unsatisfied by the non-answer. It felt a bit unfair that Shadow knew about the Werehog, about the transformation, the pain it caused him; but that he did not know anything about his Doom powers, even when they had long vanished. Did he resent them? Had they hurt him, the same way the fragment of Dark Gaia hurt him?
Then again, he already knew all too much about Shadow’s past—things his rival would not have shared if he ever had a choice—, so perhaps that was not the most apt comparison.
Still frustrating, though.
“Give me your hands,” Shadow ordered.
The black hedgehog did not know how to be gentle. It used to annoy Sonic, but he did not mind so much anymore. He gladly extended his left arm.
It was not that he was incapable of it. Shadow was obviously soft, grabbing the blue hedgehog’s naked fingers and running his own over, making circles and massaging the paw pads—Sonic felt his nerves relax, like a ripple in water, going down his limb. It was just how he spoke, or how he had been taught to speak.
“It didn’t feel special,” Shadow finally answered—it took a whole second for Sonic to remember his own question. “It was like… Recovering a lost limb, I suppose. An extension of myself.”
Though he was saying that, still making circles, there was an obvious uneasiness in his voice.
“... Right. Because you were… made like that.” The word felt like a drop of lemon juice on Sonic’s tongue.
The blue hedgehog could relate. True, he did not mind being the Werehog. He had grown somewhat accustomed to this form—it was the transformation that brought him pain. And, even though it had been forced into his very bones—thanks a lot, Egghead—, he cherished it as a reminder of Light Gaia, too. But there was still the primitive instinct, these urges that did not belong to him. And Dark Gaia, while a primordial god, had his powers been tainted by Eggman; the Black Arms did not need any help to be dangerous.
Sonic had never thought he would try to bond with his old rival over Freaky Unwanted Transformations Granted by Elder Gods—a working name—, but, hey!
Here they were.
Actually, since they had started their secret meetings, since he had confided about the persisting Dark Gaia fragment and the Werehog transformations, Sonic had noticed several things Shadow did, or did not do. His ears did not flicker at every sound. His teeth were sharp. His paw pads were hard and chipped. And, of course—
“What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinkin’… That’s why you don’t have a smell.”
“What.” Okay, now Shadow was starting to feel insulted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t know?” Sonic’s ears perked up. “For us hedgehogs, our smell’s like…”
Sonic put his free hand under his chin, trying to find a good comparison. For him, it was basically instinct: he had seen Uncle Chuck, routinely rubbing his quills, and, growing up, he had started doing the same. He had not even really noticed how much his memory relied on this little hedgehog ancestry quirk until recently.
He had noticed when he had traversed the Shatterverse, and sensed the subtle changes in Amy’s counterparts. Thorn smelt like decaying wood, and Black Rose smelt like seasalt. Rusty smelt like smoke, but, like all the other Amys, there was still this sweet odor, one Sonic associated with this special spicy dust of Little Planet, that betrayed her upbringing—even though Rusty herself had forgotten.
“... It’s like a visit card.”
“A visit card,” Shadow repeated with a growl.
“I swear!” Sonic snorted. “Or maybe, a passport?”
The black hedgehog arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.
Meanwhile, Sonic had only met another Shadow in other worlds: Lancelot. And Lancelot… Well, he was overflowing with odors. Not all pleasant ones, mind you. He was still a knight, a weapon in his King’s hand, as that guy used to say; blood and black soot had long permeated his skin under the armor. But there was also this distinct smell of fresh water, wrapped like a comforter around his quills; a childhood spent under the Lake with the fae, he could not be rid of so easily, as prideful as he was. Sometimes, Sonic wondered if there was an universe where the black hedgehog was not made to be a soldier.
All of this had made him realize that his Shadow was… Well, too clean. He was like a plastic toy, straight out of the factory.
“Look, how about you see for yourself?”
“See for myself…?”
“I mean, I’m already on your lap, so…”
Sonic turned around, kicking his feet against the couch, laying on his chest. He did not try to convince the black hedgehog any harder: he knew that, with him, he just needed to be a little bit patient.
And, soon enough, he felt Shadow nuzzling, very prudently, against his neck.
He was acutely aware of his own odor. It drew a map of all the places he had visited in the past. The pungent grapefruit seeds of the beach of Christmas Island, his homeland, the untamed wet grasses of Green Hill, the warm oil of Tails’ little workshop… Though hearing someone else describe it would be an… interesting experience.
Come to think of it, he did not remember ever being so intimate with another hedgehog…
At last, Shadow spoke up, his mouth close to Sonic’s ear. “It smells… Familiar.”
“Of course. Some of those places we’ve visited together.”
The black hedgehog carefully ran his snout through each of his unknotted quills. Sonic buried his mouth, holding back the involuntary moan creeping up his throat—making such a sound would have been a foolproof way of making sure Shadow would stop. Which would be a real shame. Feeling him so close… Sonic had to admit he was enjoying that. And, well, it was a nice distraction.
“This is…” Without seeing him, the blue hedgehog could hear Shadow’s brows furrow.
“Yeah?”
Shadow pulled back. “No, it’s stupid.”
“C’mon! Don’t leave me hanging.”
“... You smell like her. But,” the black hedgehog quickly added, “that’s impossible.”
There was only one person, one girl, whose mere phantom could make Shadow’s voice waver like this.
He was right, it was physically impossible. Sonic did not know about Shadow’s best friend—because he did not need to ask her name to know who she was, there was only one girl whose mere memory could make the black hedgehog’s voice waver—, but enough to know she had spent her whole childhood in a cold space colony in the middle of space; and that she had likely never touched a strand of grass.
“Maybe,” Sonic offered, “it’s because you’re imagining how she would’ve smelled if… You know.”
If she had lived.
“How so?”
“Well, you’re still part hedgehog. We’ve got the same ancestors. Think about it,” he added playfully, “we’re basically brothers.” The foreign expression of disgust on Shadow’s face only made Sonic bark in laughter. “What I mean is! You still have an instinct.”
The Face—capital F—did not disappear, and an idea popped into the blue hedgehog’s brain. He had never thought about it too much: the fact that his rival had simply lacked an Uncle Chuck.
“I could help you out! Like—”
“‘Teach me how to be a proper hedgehog’,” Shadow sarcastically translated, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “I don’t need that help.”
Of course, he would not have caved that easily. If there was anything that the black hedgehog truly shared with Sonic, it was his pride.
“How about you consider it,” the blue hedgehog mused, “my debt. For, you know, helping me out with my Werehog transformations.”
Shadow breathed one of his trademark hmpf. It was a different tone this time: we’ll talk about it later. The blue hedgehog refrained from an exclamation—later counted as a victory in his book!
“Just give me your other arm, idiot.”
Sonic felt his ears burn. Did he decipher tenderness in the insult? … No, he was overthinking things. There was no way the black hedgehog saw their relationship as anything more than utilitarian.
Sometimes, he wished he was as perceptive as Amy.
But it did not bother him, really. Sonic did just as instructed. He was not too sure if Shadow felt the same way he did, if he even had any inclination for the matters of romance—so those moments with his rival might be the closest thing.
They remained, after all, bound together, in more ways than one.