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The pain in his head is incomparable to anything he's experienced before.
A lifetime ago Shadow's existence was marked by constant needles, exams, tests and procedures that utterly invaded his privacy and treated him like a test subject first and foremost. Still, for all that pain and suffering, it was nothing compared to what he felt now.
Shadow groans as he pulls his covers over his head, willing the midday sun to cease its incessant shining. Maybe if he felt stronger he would stand and pull the blinds closed, but the idea of relinquishing the safety of his blankets feels foolish.
For all Shadow has experienced, he finds internal attacks to be the cruelest. The lab he was raised in was sterile and removed from the outside world, mostly for Maria's sake. It meant that Shadow had minimal, if any, contact with the germs from Earth. So since his reawakening he's become familiar with illness. He takes pride in hiding it, remaining strong even when his muscles ache or his head is spinning, but he hardly feels strong now.
His head is pounding, the sort of tension that sits just above your nose bridge where your sinuses build up. The floor is littered with tissues overflowing from his trash can. His extremities are tingly and numb. His throat aches with every cough and sneeze that rips its way through him.
When Rouge had seen the state of him, Omega was called in at once, fearful of the worst. A quick scan told them it was hardly anything serious, though. Just a mild head cold with a low-grade fever.
Rouge had ever so elegantly told Shadow to "tough it up" and left him to sort it out on his own.
Yet for as much as Shadow longed to do just that, this cold was getting the best of him.
He had been dozing in and out of sleep all day, and is on the precipice of another nap when he hears a knock echoing down the hall. Shadow squints his eyes shut, willing the visitor away, but when the knocks don't relinquish, he groans and begins to pull himself out of bed.
His head spins as soon as he sits up, dizzy with a wave of vertigo that forces him to close his eyes and steady himself. After a few seconds (and a few more annoying rounds of knocking) he manages to slip his feet into the pair of chao-themed slippers Omega had left him and shuffle down the hall and towards the door.
He opens it unceremoniously, gives one glance at the being standing on the other side, and immediately moves to close it.
Unfortunately, his movements are dulled by the cotton in his head, and though Shadow imagines the door slamming on his visitor’s face, he’s instead met with a bright blue flash which sends him stumbling backwards. When he rights himself, the door is wide open, and none other than Sonic the Hedgehog stands before him.
Sonic tsks, shaking his head. “Don’t you know it’s rude to close the door on a visitor?”
Shadow sniffs, the pain in his head ever growing, as he pushes the door shut. “Yes.”
Sonic chuckles at that, a warm sound which Shadow hates to feel tickle his ears, and without permission begins walking deeper into Shadow’s apartment. Shadow follows, not enough energy to put up a fight, and instead considering the crate Sonic’s carrying in his arms. It seems heavy, though the hedgehog carries it like it’s nothing, filled with vegetables and seasonings and what must be chicken. It’s an odd arrangement, and Shadow isn’t sure what to make of it.
“A little birdy told me someone isn’t feeling good.”
Shadow blinks. “Rouge is a bat.”
“And–” Sonic continues, ignoring Shadow entirely– “there’s nothing better for a cold than Sonic’s Famous Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup.”
Sonic smiles as he plops the crate down on Shadow’s counter. He hadn’t even registered that they’d wandered into the kitchen, Sonic kindly moving at a speed Shadow can keep up with in this state.
Shadow frowns deeply, looking from the crate, to Sonic in careful consideration of what Sonic’s saying. “You cook?”
“Not a lot,” Sonic admits. “That’s mostly Knuckles. But he’s taught me a thing or two.”
“I don’t trust that.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice!” Sonic practically sings. He turns on his heels and begins digging through Shadow’s cabinets. “You look horrible, and you’re gonna keep feeling horrible unless someone does something about it. When was the last time you’ve eaten anyway? Breakfast?”
Shadow considers that, trying to recall his last meal. Surely he had something last night before this cold began? Did he even finish his helpings, though…
“Exactly!” Sonic says. “You need food. And liquids. Trust me, this’ll help you out.”
Shadow sniffs again, and though he considers fighting Sonic more, his head starts spinning again, and he sways slightly, closing his eyes.
“Woah, okay!” Sonic says, and in a rather rude flash of blue is beside Shadow in an instant, steadying him. Carefully, Sonic maneuvers Shadow into one of the chairs on the other side of the kitchen counter, and Shadow doesn’t contest as he sinks down into it.
“Ugh,” he grumbles, immediately burying his face in his hands. “Fine. If it’ll make this stop, I’ll eat your stupid soup.”
“That’s the spirit!” Sonic chirps, rubbing Shadow on the back in a way that’s all too gentle for their usual dynamic.
Still, it feels nice, so Shadow doesn’t swat Sonic away.
“You sit there, I’ll do the cooking,” Sonic says. “Unless you’d rather lay down.”
Shadow grits his teeth. The only thing worse than Sonic in his apartment is Sonic in his apartment unsupervised. “I’m staying,” he says, though the idea of laying down does sound incredible.
“Need anything?” Sonic asks, though he’s already beginning to lay out his ingredients from the crate, taking up what little counter space Shadow has. “Blanket? Smooth jazz?”
“Quiet,” Shadow mumbles.
And Sonic, uncharacteristically considerate, smiles and nods, miming zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
Surprisingly, that quiet lasts. The dizziness fades, and Shadow situates himself to watch Sonic instead, eyeing him over as he moves throughout the kitchen, preparing vegetables, measuring spices, lighting the stove. It feels odd to see him move so slowly, even as he rushes from place to place in the kitchen. Shadow imagines Sonic could finish this prep in seconds flat if he wanted to, yet instead of running he’s walking. He’s purposefully taking his time with this cooking, humming to himself softly as he moves through the motions.
It’s suspicious.
In time, though, the silence stops. Sonic’s back is to Shadow, standing in front of the pot as he carefully adds carrots and celery to the mix. He picks up a wooden spoon and begins to stir with slow and steady motions.
“So,” Sonic says at last, and Shadow squints at his back, distrusting. “Are we gonna talk about it?”
Shadow grits his teeth again, narrowing his eyes even more. “Talk about what?”
“Y’know…” Sonic taps the spoon on the side of the pot, shaking off the last of the broth, before covering it with a lid and setting the stovetop to simmer. “About last time.”
The pieces click into place, and Shadow’s overall looseness is lost immediately. He sits up, spine rigid, and glares at Sonic when he turns to face him. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying–”
“I’m serious, Hedgehog.”
Sonic stares at him for a long moment, playful glint in his eye lost for something more serious. He’s studying Shadow carefully, trying to read him like they used to back in the lab. It makes him feel nauseous, and more than anything he wishes he had the energy to leap over the table and smack the look off his face.
All he manages, instead, is a pathetic cough.
“You said we’d talk about it,” Sonic says gently.
“No,” Shadow snaps, “I said I’d talk to someone about it.”
“And have you?”
Of course not. Who would he talk to? Omega would probably analyze it to be some sort of flaw in his DNA, Rouge would never let him live it down, and Sonic…
Sonic, who was so kind and gentle last time. Sonic, who leapt into a role he was unfamiliar with just because it made Shadow feel safe. Sonic, who would likely do it again in a heartbeat.
Was he just supposed to let him?
“Has it happened again?”
Of course it has. Shadow doesn’t exactly understand his brain and body himself. There are things they did to him, things he’ll likely never understand, seeking to make him the greatest weapon there was.
But this is different…
His brain, it’s unsteady, unstable. Ever since he’s woken up, he’s had a tendency to… revert isn’t the proper term, because he was never a child to begin with. But his mind, it tries to fill in those blanks, tries to recreate what he never had, and he loses control of himself, doing grossly childish things.
It’s always been in the safety of his own home, though. He’s had it relatively under control, keeping it secret so that the others weren’t aware of how unstable he really is.
But when Sonic happened to come by during one of those episodes, Shadow couldn’t exactly hide it.
He’d seen it, all of it, from the thumb-sucking to the whining to falling asleep in Sonic’s arms.
And the next morning, when Shadow had regained control of himself, he had sent Sonic away with the promise that he’d talk to someone about it. That he wouldn’t let himself be alone when it happened.
It was a lie, of course, a desperate attempt to get Sonic out of his home. He had hoped, foolishly, that it would be enough to keep Sonic from inquiring about it anymore.
Of course, he wasn’t so lucky.
“You just seem happy during it, is all,” Sonic is saying, and as Shadow blinks back to focus he wonders how long Sonic’s been rambling. “And that’s sorta rare for a guy like you.”
“Can we not talk about this?”
“Why?” Sonic asks. He dries his hands on a towel before standing across from Shadow, head tilted with a smile on his face. It’s a genuine inquiry, which, of course, makes it all the more intolerable. “What are you so scared of?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Really?” Sonic says, an air of teasing to his word. “Because you seem pretty shaken by me bringing it up.”
Shadow growls, averting his gaze entirely to look down at his hands. His gloves are off considering he never really got dressed today, leaving his claws and paw-pads exposed, save his inhibitor rings. He stares at his hands a moment, unsure how to proceed. Defensiveness hardly seems logical, and he finds it hard to believe he could convince Sonic it didn’t happen.
Luckily, Sonic changes the subject.
“Look, we’ve got a while until the soup’s ready. How about a movie?”
Shadow squints at Sonic, not entirely sure he trusts him, but likewise eager to get out of this chair and onto the soft couch. He hardly wants to extend how much time Sonic spends here, but if a movie is what it takes to keep the conversation away from his instabilities, Shadow will take it.
He moves to scooch out of the chair, only for the vertigo to hit him again. He stumbles, nearly falling, and in an instant Sonic is by his side, steadying him with two hands on his shoulders. “Woah! Your legs really aren’t cooperating today, are they?”
Shadow says nothing, instead squeezing his eyes shut and willing the spinning to go away. When Sonic guides him to take a step forward, Shadow does so blindly, trusting Sonic to get him to the couch.
Eventually, Shadow sits, daring to open his eyes to see Sonic standing above him. His head is tilted, a warm smile on his face that Shadow imagines clawing off. He seems… compassionate… it’s disgusting.
In a flash Sonic’s gone, only to reappear a moment later with a couple of things in his arms.
“Blanket,” Sonic says, not asking permission before draping the white, fluffy blanket over Shadow’s shoulders. Shadow considers fighting, but honestly doesn’t have enough energy to care, instead just sinking back into the couch.
“And–” Sonic continues– “A little friend.”
Shadow feels the warmth touch his lap before he fully registers what’s being placed there. He glares at the stuffed bear on his knees, swatting it away as if it’s burnt him. “What is that?”
Sonic gasps, rushing to pick up the stuffed bear. “That’s Beartholomew thank-you-very-much. He’s a warmie.”
“I don’t want him.”
“He’s like a heating pad. And you’re freezing. He’ll help get your body temperature up.”
“I have a fever. My temperature’s already up.”
“Then down or something! I don’t know. He just helps me feel better when I’m sick. Figured he’d help you, too.”
Shadow glares again at the bear in Sonic’s arms. “I don’t need toys.”
“He’s not a toy,” Sonic defends. “At least, not anymore than a pillow or blanket is. Do you want to feel better?”
Shadow, reluctantly, mumbles a, “Yes.”
“Then trust me!” Sonic insists. He shoves the bear back into Shadow’s arms, and this time Shadow doesn’t immediately knock it to the floor. It’s soft and warm and smells slightly of lavender. It’s a comforting presence, he must admit, even if it annoys him to do so.
“Fine,” Shadow grumbles. He sits the bear on his lap, refusing to hold it, and sits back on the couch. “What are we watching?”
Sonic beams, pleased with his win, and settles on the couch beside Shadow. He’s close enough to Shadow that it’s uncomfortable, but there’s enough space between them that Shadow doesn’t complain. He just stares at the TV, watching as Sonic scrolls through options.
It isn’t lost to Shadow that Sonic is gravitating towards the children’s movies, and Shadow has the sinking suspicion that Sonic may be trying to encourage his brain’s instability. He considers bringing that up, but fears restarting that early conversation, so simply sets his jaw and watches as Sonic puts on Encanto.
He’s the Ultimate Lifeform, afterall. He wouldn’t lose control of his mind so easily.
He watches with a blank expression as the movie plays. It’s brightly colored, one of those where they illogically sing and dance, but Shadow is hardly paying attention. His focus is on his body, feeling that stuffy feeling stuck in his head and sniffing away snot every few minutes. Eventually it becomes intolerable, and Shadow moves to stand, muttering something about tissues.
Sonic is faster, though, rushing down the hall and finding a box to bring to Shadow before he has a chance to sit up.
“There you are!” Sonic says cheerily, sitting them within Shadow’s reach. “Need anything else?”
Shadow glares at him, displeased with Sonic’s insistence, but his head is pounding, and he’s not certain standing again is a good idea, so he caves. “Ibuprofen? It’s in my room.”
“Got it,” Sonic says, speeding off in that direction.
It must not be in an obvious spot, because Sonic is gone a long while, and Shadow finds himself zoning out as he watches the shapes and colors on the screen move. A song begins to play, upbeat and cheery, and Shadow can’t help but tap his toe to the rhythm.
He sinks deeper into the blanket, considering the warmth of the bear on his lap, and brings it closer to his chest despite his previous reservations. It is warm, afterall, and Shadow feels freezing.
Eventually Sonic returns, and it’s distraction enough that Shadow doesn’t notice the new type of fuzziness rushing to his head.
“Here you go!” Sonic says, handing over a glass of water and two pills. Shadow takes them both, though struggling a bit with the soreness of his throat, before setting the glass aside for later.
“What I miss?”
“Dunno,” Shadow mumbles, leaning deeper into the couch. A tiredness is pulling at his eyes now, exhaustion from more time awake than he’s had all day, and he watches the movie lazily play out before him.
He must doze off, because when Sonic says, “Soup’s done!” his head feels fuzzy and unclear, and the credits of the movie are rolling.
The headache and sinus pain are gone, as is the sore throat, thanks to the medicine, but that lack of clarity lingers in a way Shadow doesn’t have sense enough to despise. He writes it off as his illness. He’s sick, is all.
Sonic says something–maybe Shadow’s name–and Shadow blinks slowly, looking towards Sonic who is waiting in the kitchen. There are two bowls sitting at the counter now, both steaming and ready to be enjoyed, and Shadow is suddenly aware of how hungry he is. Still, he hesitates, remembering the unsteadiness of his legs earlier.
“Everything alright, bud?”
Bud. The condescending word should send Shadow into a rampage, but it only makes that fuzziness in his head feel thicker, and something in his chest glows warmly at the use of it. Part of him wants Sonic to use it again. Part of him considers leaping across the room to beat the word out of Sonic.
In his inner turmoil, he never responds, and Sonic looks to him with a tilted head before slowly walking over.
“C’mon,” Sonic says, gently unwrapping Shadow from the blanket and removing the stuffed bear. At once, Shadow shivers, and reaches back for the warmth, but Sonic take his hands gently and encourages him to stand. “Eat first, then more blankie time.”
Bud. Blankie. He knows what Sonic’s doing. He’s treating him like a child, some insolent younger lifeform incapable of caring for himself. He considers calling Sonic out on it, but when he opens his mouth the words don’t come. He grumbles, swallows, and tries again. “Don’t need help,” he hisses, snatching his hands away.
He moves to stand, but immediately stumbles, grateful, in that moment, for Sonic beside him. Sonic catches him, one hand on his back and the other holding his hand, as Shadow waits for the vertigo to fade.
“You sure about that?” Sonic teases.
Shadow only grimaces.
Sonic leads Shadow over to the table only to pause, looking at the high top counter and chairs. He looks between them and Shadow, and Shadow’s certain they’re both thinking the same thing: is that safe?
Shadow wants to argue yes, moving towards the chairs, but Sonic has a firm grip on his hand and keeps him in place.
“How about a picnic?”
Shadow blinks at him, wishing more than anything he could convey what a stupid and unnecessary idea that is. But when Sonic grabs the fluffy blanket and lays it across the floor, there’s a thrum of excitement in Shadow’s chest over the idea of eating there.
Shadow averts his gaze, still holding a grimace. “Fine.”
Sonic helps Shadow to settle onto the floor, even if Shadow is quite certain he could do it himself. He sits on the edge of the blanket awkwardly, legs crossed beneath him, before deciding this would be more comfortable without slippers on. He kicks them off and sets them aside, re-situating himself so his bare feet press firmly into the blanket beneath him.
The texture itself calls for Shadow to go back to sleep, but his hunger is stronger, and thus he waits for Sonic to deliver the food.
Sonic places one bowl and a spoon in front of Shadow, then sits himself, crisscross with a bright smile on his face. “Enjoy!”
Shadow says nothing, simply taking up the spoon in his hand and beginning to bring soup to his mouth.
He feels shaky, though. Uncoordinated. And though he’s certain the distance between bowl and mouth isn’t that great, it feels tremendous as he unsteadily lifts the spoon. As he brings it to his mouth, some soup sloshes from it, spilling onto the blanket (which Shadow is pleased isn’t his). Sonic, politely, doesn’t mention it, but Shadow’s cheeks burn in embarrassment at his lack of coordination. He tries again, slower this time, and with less soup, and this time only a bit dribbles onto his chin.
He considers his options here. He could keep going as he is, quietly making a mess of Sonic’s blanket. Or he could lift the bowl in one hand to bring it closer. He hesitates, though, unsure if he can hold it steady and certain it would be a bigger mess than if he just used the spoon.
Or he could ask for help.
Shadow shudders at the idea, disgust turning in his stomach. Ask for help? From Sonic? He would rather lose himself to this illness for an eternity than ask for help on a task as simple as eating.
Unfortunately, Sonic doesn’t stay quiet for long.
“Not hungry?”
Shadow grimaces at the interruption to his thoughts, looking back up at Sonic who’s watching Shadow with wide eyes, even as he takes a sip of soup. Something about looking at Sonic brings that fuzzy feeling back to the forefront of Shadow’s mind, and he tries his best to press it down.
He struggles with his words for a moment, floundering with his mouth open dumbly, before sighing and pointing at the bowl. “I’m… having trouble.”
“I noticed,” Sonic snorts. “Was gonna spare you the embarrassment, though.”
Shadow frowns.
“Want some help?”
Because of course he offers. Of course this hedgehog who burst into his home knows exactly what Shadow needs, even if it’s not what he wants.
Shadow sighs again, searching for the words to deny it, but Sonic is already scooting closer and taking up both Shadow’s bowl and spoon. He dips the spoon into the bowl, gathering a good mix of veggies and chicken, and begins to bring it up to Shadow’s mouth. “Here comes the airplane.”
Shadow, at once, feels his cheeks burn. Despite himself, he smacks the spoon from Sonic’s hand, sending it flying across the room and splattering the blanket and couch with soup. He doesn’t care, though. He feels furious–no, embarrassed, overwhelmed with shame and self-hatred and anger towards Sonic for daring to treat him this way. Or maybe it’s anger with himself for needing to be treated this way.
“Shadow!” Sonic gasps, entirely taken off guard by it, but Shadow doesn’t care. He imagines himself tackling Sonic, throwing him to the ground and beating him senseless for this treatment. Instead, though, he clumsily leans forward, swatting at Sonic with open palms. Sonic expects it this time, fast enough to save the soup but not his face from the assault of weak slaps.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Sonic says, voice surprisingly gentle despite Shadow’s tantrum. Sonic sits the soup aside and grabs Shadow’s wrists, stopping the attack. “Hey, cool it! What’s going on?”
“Gonna kill you,” Shadow manages to say, though the slur of his words only adds to his embarrassment, and he tries again to hit Sonic.
Sonic has a firm grasp on his wrists, though, so Shadow rolls awkwardly to the side and begins to kick at Sonic instead.
One must land, because he hears Sonic groan before a burst of blue light is surrounding him.
Without warning, Shadow is off the ground, being held–held–under the arms by Sonic. It’s enough distance that Shadow can’t slap him anymore, and the vertigo at the shift in position keeps him from kicking accurately.
It does, however, only add to his embarrassment.
“Air jail for the baby.”
Shadow growls at such an insolent word, taking to clawing at Sonic’s arms instead. It must hurt, because Sonic turns and walks Shadow back to the couch, plopping him down there and then backing away out of Shadow’s reach. “Fine. Then couch jail.”
Shadow moves to stand immediately, seeking to close the distance between him and Sonic, but the vertigo hits him hard, and Sonic isn’t there to catch him this time. Sonic lets him fall onto the ground, landing on his hands and knees, and that’s what breaks the dam.
Shadow screams, pounding at the floor with his fists as he hangs his head, warm tears starting to stream down his cheeks.
He’s going to have to smother Sonic in his sleep for having seen all of this, but he doesn’t care. Screaming and crying feels good, it feels relieving when he can’t take his anger out violently, and so he lets himself scream and sob and pound the ground until he can’t stand it anymore.
At some point in it all, Sonic must have decided Shadow wasn’t a threat anymore, and sat down across from him, criss cross on the ground and waiting patiently for this fit to be over.
Shadow sniffs, snot running down his face, as he looks up at Sonic finally. The fury is still there, but he doesn’t feel strong enough to do anything about it, so he just shifts so he’s sitting as well and glares at Sonic.
“Tissue?” Sonic offers, tilting the box from before at Shadow.
Shadow takes it up, clumsily wiping his face in a way that mostly succeeds in making more of a mess. Sonic chuckles, then takes a tissue himself.
“I’m going to clean you up, okay?”
Shadow wants to protest, but instead lets Sonic carefully wipe away snot and tears from his fur.
Once he does, Shadow has to admit he does feel better. Sonic smiles at him warmly before standing to go wash his hands, and Shadow hates the longing in his chest as Sonic walks away from him.
He does return, though, sitting across from him, and Shadow silently swears not to let him get too far again.
“We need to talk about it.”
Shadow pouts, crossing his arms and looking away from Sonic.
“Look,” Sonic sighs. “I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think ignoring it is good for you. This game of pretending it isn’t happening, especially when you aren’t feeling good, it doesn’t seem healthy.”
Shadow snorts. He wants to ask when Sonic–the man whose diet consists of chili dogs and overworking himself–became the judge of what’s healthy, but knows better than to try and vocalize that.
“Last time was nice. It seemed like you had a good time. What’s different this time?”
Last time Sonic appeared in the middle of it. Last time, Shadow was already long gone, his logic out the window and not enough sense to push Sonic away. This time…?
This time, he’s desperately holding onto his adulthood, and normally he can. But the mix of sickness and exhaustion is making it hard. So maybe if he can just scare Sonic away, he could do this whole childish act in peace. Alone.
Sonic must understand some of that by Shadow’s look, because he says, “I know you don’t want me here, but I don’t really think it’s safe to leave you alone right now. You can barely walk, you can barely eat, I doubt you’ve had anything to drink all day. You need help.”
“I don’t,” Shadow manages, flashing his fangs in a way he hopes is intimidating.
Sonic doesn’t blink. “You do. Your entire body is begging you to take it easy and rest, even your brain. That’s how you can feel better. The more you fight it, and the less you let me help, the worse you’ll feel.”
But it shouldn’t be like this. If Sonic were sick, if Rouge were sick, if Knuckles or Tails or Amy were sick, their brains wouldn’t also shut down. They’d stay themselves. They’d stay mature and grown and capable of caring for themselves.
Why is Shadow any different? Why can’t he just hold onto his adulthood like everyone else?
The answer, he knows, is that he’s not everyone else. They got to do this already. They got childhoods. They got to be cared for and made soup and carried around and tucked into bed with stuffed bears. Shadow never had that, and maybe some twisted part of his brain is trying to make up for that.
And, sickeningly, Sonic seems to be who his brain wants to help him in those moments.
Shadow stares down at his hands again. They feel so big. Too big. All of him feels too big right now, like he’s in a body not meant for him.
But Sonic makes him feel smaller. He makes him feel like this is right.
Shadow almost feels like crying again, but the tears don’t come, rather a lump forming in his sore throat that blocks out his words.
One night can’t hurt, can it? Besides, Sonic has demonstrated before that he’ll keep this a secret. What’s one more time?
Shadow stares at Sonic for a long moment, watching that stupid smile grow a little wider. When the fuzziness creeps closer, tricking its way into his brain, Shadow lets it.
He takes a deep breath in, then lets it out, then points to the soup Sonic had set aside.
“Hungry?” Sonic asks, seemingly pleased with this progress. “Are you gonna let me help you this time?”
Shadow doesn’t say anything, which thankfully Sonic takes as a “yes”. Sonic takes up the thrown spoon and the bowl, and gives Shadow a quick wink before going to clean off the spoon and top it off with warm soup.
It takes a moment too long, and Shadow feels a protest rise in his chest, one he tries to vocalize. It only comes out as a whine, though, a childish sound, and Sonic inappropriately chuckles at it.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sonic says.
He sits down on the floor across from Shadow, dips the spoon into the bowl, and brings it to Shadow’s mouth. “No airplanes this time.”
Shadow hesitates for a moment, some semblance of shame still clinging to him. Eventually, though, he opens his mouth and lets Sonic feed him.
He’s pleased to have the soup in his stomach, fully unaware of just how hungry he’s been. Sonic feeds him in a steady rhythm, careful not to spill any, and for a while Shadow keeps his eyes away from Sonic. Eventually, though, Sonic starts talking–not about anything in particular–and Shadow lets his eyes meet Sonics. He watches as he rambles on, the sound of his voice filling the silence of the apartment, and that fuzziness is pleased to take its place in his head.
“Done,” Sonic announces at last.
Shadow shuts his mouth and watches as Sonic gathers both Shadow’s bowl and his own discarded soup bowl and moves to stand, seemingly going to do the dishes.
With the strength of the soup in him, though, Shadow is fast enough to grab Sonic’s arm, keeping him from leaving.
Sonic gives pause, looking at Shadow expectantly. “Oh?”
Shadow is certain he could find the words if he tried hard enough, find some way to explain that he doesn’t want to be alone even just for a second, but he doesn’t bother with it. He simply releases Sonic’s arm and opens his hands up towards him, motioning for help standing.
“Oh!”
Frustratingly, Sonic misunderstands. He shifts all the bowls into one hand, and stoops down to Shadow’s level, wrapping an arm around his back. Before Shadow can contest he’s being lifted by Sonic with ease, brought onto his hip like an actual child.
Shadow’s cheeks burn, and he starts to push away, entirely overwhelmed by the idea of being held, but Sonic has a firm grip on him and keeps him in place.
“Hey, c’mon, I thought we were making progress. This is easier than you walking, anyways.”
And Shadow, with his legs as tingly and far away as they feel, has to admit that it’s probably true. He pouts still, but doesn’t protest as Sonic carries him into the kitchen.
Sonic sits Shadow on the floor as he turns to the sink. “Just gonna do some dishes real quick, ‘kay?”
Shadow doesn’t respond. He’s grumpy at having been put on the cold hard floor, but has enough sense to recognize that Sonic needs two hands to do dishes, so he accepts his fate.
He stares at the tiles on the floor, simple squares without any patterning but dark separations between panels. He sticks his finger between the two tiles and begins to trace the lines up and down, back and forth, as if drawing a picture of lines and squares.
Eventually, his other hand is eager for something to do as well, as is his mouth, and without thinking Shadow sticks his thumb between his lips. It’s not uncommon for him in this state, as someone who, even in a grown mental state, is often chewing on something, so he doesn’t think anything of it until Sonic glances down and makes a tsk.
“That’s not really good for you, y’know,” Sonic says, pulling Shadow’s hand out of his mouth. “Especially not while you’re sick.”
Shadow tries to swat Sonic’s hand away and return his thumb to his mouth, but his attempts are fruitless in this dulled state. Eventually, he grumbles and slaps the floor, portraying his discontent in whatever means capable.
“Hold on,” Sonic says in that sing-songy voice that suggests he has an idea.
Blue light fills the room and Shadow hears the door open and close. He considers bawling at that moment, furious that Sonic would leave him alone, but in an instant Sonic’s back, holding something that distracts Shadow entirely.
Shadow’s cheeks burn. “No.”
“C’mon,” Sonic says, waving it back and forth. Pinched between his fingers is a simple red pacifier, big enough for an adult’s mouth. “It’s better for you than your thumb.”
Shadow swallows, brows furrowed deeply as he stares in disgust at that thing. “‘M not…” he starts, struggling to find his words. He breathes, focuses, tries again. “I’m not a baby.”
“Debatable,” Sonic says. He sets the paci on the counter and bends down to pick Shadow up again, easily bringing him into his arms so that they’re chest to chest. Shadow steadies himself with his hands on Sonic’s shoulders, utterly overwhelmed with the embarrassment of this all.
“Look like a baby, sound like a baby, act like a baby.”
“I’ll… kill you…”
Sonic chuckles, setting Shadow down so he’s sitting on the counter. Without asking, Sonic grabs the paci and plops it into Shadow’s mouth.
Shadow moves to spit it out immediately, but Sonic is faster and plops it back in again. It’s a fight Shadow can’t win, and, grumpy, he’s resigned to sucking on it.
It is, he must admit, better than sucking on his thumb. It’s cleaner, and without a claw at the end that scrapes the roof of his mouth.
“See? I have good ideas sometimes.”
Sometimes.
“Okay, let’s see. Food, movie. What else can we do?”
Shadow considers bringing up that he’s tired and wants to sleep, but something in him is opposed to the idea. What if when he wakes up this is all over, and Sonic is gone? The idea forms as a pit in his stomach, and he grips a little tighter onto Sonic’s shoulders.
“Oh!” Sonic says suddenly, looking Shadow over like it's obvious. “When's the last time you'd been cleaned up? Might do you some good.”
Shadow frowns, shaking his head in a firm no without breaking away from the paci.
“Relax, I'm not talking about a shower,” Sonic quickly adds. “But you do have soup down your chest. And your quills could use some brushing. How's that sound?”
Shadow looks down at himself, realizing that, yes, he did manage to get soup down his chest earlier. It's just broth, but against the white tuft of fur on his chest it's very apparent. And it's true that he hasn't cleaned his quills since he got sick. Both might be nice…
He considers protesting regardless, eager to put up a fight and demonstrate that he’s not just going to roll over and be childish because Sonic said so, but before he has the chance Sonic is scooping Shadow back up into his arms. He bounces Shadow a few times, smirking, and Shadow curses himself for how infectious that joy is. He can’t help the small giggle that bubbles up from his chest, though he quickly hides it with a cough.
“There’s that smile,” Sonic says warmly, reaching out to tap Shadow’s nose. “See. I knew you enjoyed this.”
Shadow wants to argue that he doesn’t, but Sonic is heading towards the bathroom before Shadow gets the chance.
Sonic kicks the bathroom door open with his foot, humming to himself all the while. He places Shadow on the toilet lid before turning to rummage through cabinets, looking for something clearly. He must find it, because he pulls out one of Shadow’s washcloths in time, and a bit later some soap.
“You’re a real minimalist, y’know that? These cabinets are so empty it’s sad.”
Shadow crosses his arms, sucking on his paci with a roll of his eyes.
Sonic wets the wash cloth in the sink and squeezes a bit of soap onto it, lathering it up before bringing it to Shadow’s chest. He works carefully, but quickly, working the soup out of his fur with ease.
Shadow’s certain they’re done when Sonic reaches up suddenly and snatches the paci out of Shadow’s mouth. The emptiness in his mouth is aggravating, and Shadow reaches to take the paci back, making a whine in protest.
“Ah ah ah–” Sonic says, shaking his head. “Let me clean your face first.”
Shadow pouts, shaking his head, only to earn a chuckle from Sonic.
“C’mon. You look a mess. Just your face, then I’ll leave you be.”
Shadow considers, not for the first time tonight, how much he wishes he had a chaos emerald.
Powerless to stop him, Shadow accepts his fate as Sonic cleans his face, working the soup out of the fur there.
“There,” Sonic says with a pleased smile. “All clean. Who’s a handsome boy?”
Sonic reaches forward to tap Shadow’s nose again, but Shadow sees it coming, shifting instead to bite Sonic’s finger. He releases quickly, knowing better than to hold on, but smiling devilishly all the same.
“Ow!” Sonic shouts, retracting his hand and shaking it out. “You little—”
Shadow sticks his tongue out at Sonic, smiling, and moves to stand.
There’s no vertigo that comes with it this time, but it still feels weird to stand, like his legs are slightly longer than he would expect. Sonic moves to support him, but Shadow pushes him away, determined to do this himself.
He feels triumphant walking towards the bathroom door, even if it’s more of a toddle, and doing so without Sonic’s help. He stands there at the entrance, looking up and down the hall before deciding on which way he wanted to go.
He turns around and opens one hand out to Sonic, urging him to follow.
Sonic, without hesitation, takes Shadow’s hand. “Where we going?”
Shadow begins to lead the two of them towards his bedroom. When Sonic realizes where they’re going, he gives a mock gasp, putting one hand on his cheek. “Oh, now I’m allowed in your bedroom? Your forbid it last time.”
Shadow thinks that was probably wise, but he’s eager for his bed, and for the box of things hidden beneath it.
He says nothing as he pushes the door open, letting go of Sonic’s hand and walking towards the bed. He drops onto his knees, pleased to no longer be standing, and tilts his head to look under the bed. One hand pops into his mouth, and the other begins reaching blindly under the bed.
Wordlessly, Sonic takes the thumb from Shadow’s mouth and replaces it with the paci. “Looking for monsters?”
Shadow rolls his eyes, considering pointing out that he, himself, is the monster that’d be under a bed, but electing to say nothing. In time he comes in contact with cardboard and tugs it out.
Shadow turns to sit fully on the floor, legs spread with an old shoebox between them. He looks to Sonic expectantly, assuming he knows what this is, though Sonic seems clueless.
“You’ve lost me, bud.”
Shadow rolls his eyes, popping the box open and dumping the contents onto the floor.
There’s not much to be found inside of it, but all that he reveals is inherently old, dusty, and childish.
A small plush doll, a teddy bear, some jacks and marbles, ruined playing cards.
“Oh,” Sonic says, carefully lifting the doll and turning it around in his hands. It’s seen better days, and is hardly cuddleable, but Shadow still feels a rush of protection surrounding it. He snatches it back from Sonic and lays it back on the ground with the others.
“What is all of this?”
“Mine,” Shadow mumbles around the paci. It hardly portrays the truth of it, though, that this bit of junk is all Shadow has to occupy himself when his brain goes in this direction. A few old odds-n-ends that survived the lab.
Maria’s things.
He carefully picks back up the plush doll, brushing the yarn out of its face so he can see its blue button eyes. With it in one hand, he tucks the rest of the things away, and twists to climb onto the bed.
Once on top, Shadow turns to look back at Sonic, but Sonic is still staring at the box. There’s something in his eyes Shadow struggles to place. Sympathy, maybe.
Shadow goes to say Sonic’s name, curious, but the word comes out jumbled. Still, it gets Sonic’s attention, and at once the sadness in his eyes is gone, replaced with a smile.
“Got a brush somewhere? I’m sure you’d feel better with your quills done?”
Shadow nods, pointing towards the dresser. As Sonic goes to grab it, Shadow scoots forward on the bed, sitting criss cross with the doll in his lap. He wiggles his toes as he waits for Sonic’s return, hiding a yawn behind a closed fist.
“Sleepy?” Sonic asks, and Shadow shakes his head. “Too bad. We’re taking a nap after this.”
Shadow frowns at the idea, but he’s hardly in a position to argue vocally. He simply won’t fall asleep, he decides. That’ll show him.
But as Sonic situates himself behind Shadow and begins gently running the brush through his quills, Shadow feels the call of sleep build in his head. That fuzziness is joined by a fog, one that pulls on his eyelids and makes his shoulders droop.
He sniffs, focusing on the sensation of Sonic brushing his quills, and listening to the gentle drum of Sonic talking about who-knows-what.
And if he falls asleep against Sonic’s gentle touch, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
When Shadow wakes up it’s dark outside, stars shining overhead around a shattered moon. Shadow stares at the outdoors for a long moment, watching it through the curtain, before beginning to pull himself out of bed.
He’s tired, sure, but hungry more so than anything, and he finds himself wondering if there’s still soup downstairs.
Soup from Sonic.
Sonic.
Shadow’s heart skips, a rush of adrenaline bursting through his body at the idea of Sonic here in his home.
Sonic, who had seen him sick and pathetic.
Sonic, who had seen him acting young.
It’s a testament to how much better he’s feeling with the speed at which he bursts from the bedroom, bare feet clicking against the floor since he’d left his slippers in the living room.
The living room is dark, though, and empty. Shadow, for a moment, is eager to write it all up as a bad dream, but there’s signs that he was here. A pot sitting on the drying rack. A fluffy white blanket folded on the couch with a bear on top of it.
A bear, and a doll.
Shadow steps towards it, hesitant, and finds sitting beside it all a folded note. He picks it up and reads it.
‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye! Team needed help with a badnik. Y’know how it is.
‘Did some laundry. Hope you don’t mind. Soup’s in the fridge if you want some more.
‘Thanks for trusting me with all of this, big guy. Hope you’re feeling better.
‘-Sonic.’
Shadow frowns as he reads the note. The fuzziness in his head is gone, replaced with a general uncertainty of what exactly happened before his nap, but he knows it happened again. He knows Sonic saw his instability once more.
Yet, that thought doesn’t fill him with the dread it once did.
Shadow turns to the laundry, lifting up the plush doll. It’s been cleaned, no longer caked in the dirt and grime it’s always had. He knows it couldn’t have survived the washer, so Sonic must have hand-washed it.
Just for him.
Shadow considers the doll for a long moment before setting it back on the couch and turning to search for the soup in the kitchen.
Maybe, he considers, this isn’t so bad afterall.