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The first thing to stand out in his face when he arrives at Holoska is the suffocating atmosphere. It acts less like the tense silence plaguing the Federation, and more like a gut feeling telling him that something is wrong, seriously wrong. He tries to push this feeling down.
Therefore, Sonic wastes no time letting himself into the little cabin, pushing the door open in spite of the faulty lock (then again, what need do they have to lock their door, when they live in the middle of nowhere?). The fireplace is lit, acting as a polite welcome from the biting cold outside — snow has begun to fall, white little snowflakes littering the rock-hard floor, soil so solid he may as well have been walking on stone.
In rapid hindsight, he wishes he had chosen to announce his appearance in a more serene manner, or better yet, concealed his presence for the meanwhile. Shadow is at home, and he knows this, because while they do explore the surrounding forest at times, he knows that their last choice of time to do this would be when the snow begins to fall. As much as the rain had never seemed to bother them, the snow, funnily enough, is an entirely different story.
“Don’t break my lock, or I will make you fix it.” Shadow states from the living room, and the blue hedgehog follows the sound of their low voice to find them resting on the couch, having pulled the piece of furniture closer to the center of the room. Sonic smiles before he can help himself, taking a seat next to the hybrid in the warm glow of the controlled blaze.
“Why would you need to lock your door? There’s nobody here for like, a couple hundred kilometers, man,” he shrugs, quickly regretting having not removed his shoes in the landing - he doesn’t want to remove them in the living room, Shadow chides him for doing that.
“It’s about the principle of the matter,” they retort, “as if you would understand.”
“Yeah, man, whatever,” Sonic quickly brushes the matter off, fleeting memories of the mad doctor running back into his mind, of the former soldier he once loved — still loves. Were locked doors ever a luxury they had before? “Been a while since I dropped in, what’s been goin’ on, Shads?”
“How many times must I repeat myself? Don’t call me that.” But the blue hedgehog knows them well, and can hear the notable lack of bite in their words. Their form is mostly concealed by a fleece blanket brought up to rest on their legs, hiding their legs, their feet, the lower portion of their torso. The orange glow that bathes the room makes their fur look brown, makes their red highlights blend in all the more, and yet, their appearance is still striking — if not a bit dishevelled.
The living room flickers golden in accordance with the ignited fireplace, Sonic lets his gaze fall onto his companion.
“Have you been keeping in contact with Rouge? She was askin’ about you again,” He tries to ask casually, concealing the way he stares at them almost intently, as if it is the last time he will ever get to take in their appearance, as if they might wither away before his very eyes.
“That’s a ridiculous question, and you know it,” they bite, “she calls me every week, at the least.”
“Well, y’know how it is,” Blue lets a quiet laugh slip from his lips, “she was hesitant to see you go. I’m glad you finally left, though.”
“I’ve only been here for five months, and I already withdrew from the empire long before that.” Four months and two weeks, but who’s counting? “You won’t let me rest, whatsoever.”
“I visit you every month, I don’t wanna hear any complaints!” He defends himself, “I’ve gotta make sure you’re, Chaos, I dunno, still alive, an’ whatever. . .” he trails off, unwilling to let the mere idea of that penetrate his thoughts. Too many times he has woken up from nightmares of walking into the cabin, and finding them with their wrists slit, hanging from the ceiling, or missing altogether. He knows the hybrid is immortal, that such thoughts alone are nothing less than insane; the concept still haunts him, though.
“How have you, uhm, been managing, then?” The blue hedgehog peels his coat off, leaving it on the back of the couch - the fabric is damp from the few snowflakes that fell on him and have long melted, and he would preferably have the garment dry before he leaves in the morning tomorrow.
“You already asked me that,” they mutter, refusing to look up from the book sitting in their lap - their hands are gentle in holding the pages open, likely in an act of preservation, preventing the pages from creasing, the spine from cracking. Sonic could never bring himself to care that much about the finer details of such things.
“You deflected,” Blue quickly objects, “look, I know you’ve got some. . . stuff to work through, a lot, actually, but when you never talk to me, or anyone, for that matter, God forbid a guy worries.”
He observes the way their eyes are fixed on the page before them, not reading the words, barely even looking at the words, but more so just looking down at nothing in particular. He appreciates the way their quills are slick with oil, and their fur is far from as soft as it can be, which he knows from some solid experience, thank you very much.
He turns the question over in his mind before tentatively choosing to voice it, rephrasing it a couple times, debating to forget even asking it a couple more, before eventually: “When’s the last time you even took a shower?”
Shadow whips around to glare at him with an expression that Sonic can only dub as extremely offended, but he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it — the question was hanging in the air long before he had ever thought to ask it.
“I’m dead serious,” he continues, “like, seriously, have you even been taking care of yourself?”
“I’m not a child, I know how to take care of myself.” Shadow sneers, their hand twitching over the open book, almost as if they were considering shutting it.
“I know you know how to take care of yourself, but have you?” Sonic presses further, resisting the urge to sit closer to the hybrid sitting on his right side, willing himself to continue despite their infuriating stubbornness. “You had anything to eat today, for starters?”
For a moment, they look as though they consider ignoring him, or telling him to fuck off, or something between those two options. Yet, to the blue hedgehog’s surprise, they relent: “I have.”
“Okay, yeah, great start,” He tries to keep his elation at their cooperation at a minimum, conveniently choosing to rub his nose in an attempt to hide the smile blossoming on his face. “It’s already late, the weather caught me up, but trust me I would’ve come earlier. Anyway, I’ve been dyin’ to take a shower, so, you wanna go first or. . . ?”
The dark hedgehog shakes their head, gaze falling back to the book sitting lifelessly in their lap.
“You go first, I don’t care.”
-
The hedgehog would rather not admit that he has been timing them, but unfortunately, facts don’t lie.
With each minute, each second, that the clock ticks over, Sonic can positively admit that he is both restless, and absolutely exhausted. Ultimately concerned for what might be taking so long, he is itching to get up from the bed he’s lounging in and knock on the bathroom door.
He hears nothing from the second room, but can smell the faint fragrance of soap spilling into the rest of the house — the light spills into the corridor from under the crack of the door. The silence is what pesters him.
Weighing his options on a mental balance, Sonic spares a glance at the window behind him. The sun has long set, and the dark silhouette of the trees blends in with the surrounding environment: the snow does not sparkle when there is no sunlight to reflect from, instead, a sheet of white ice stares back at him.
He resents the idea of getting out of bed now, when his quills are still damp, exacerbating the chill of the cabin all the more, when the mattress cradles his body perfectly, the quilt insulating his warmth. . . But he should probably check on Shadow, he thinks.
No normal hedgehog takes forty five minutes in the bathroom bathing themselves, even though Shadow could definitely be categorised as anything but.
Ergo, the blue hedgehog begrudgingly peels the sheets from his body, wincing at the influx of cold air combing through his fur, his still wet quills only seemingly attracting the chill. His gloves have already been removed, so he walks the short distance in only his socks.
He decides against voicing his presence as he approaches, and knocks on the door when he stands before the bathroom.
“You’ve been in there for like. . .” don’t let them know you’ve been waiting, “half an hour. Mind givin’ me a sign of life?” The hedgehog shifts where he stands, catching a quiet splash of water from behind the door, but nothing less, nothing more.
Sonic waits another slow minute, but chooses not to knock this time around: “Shads? C’mon, it’s gettin’ late, you seriously can’t be takin’ that long.”
Yet, he receives no verbal response: nothing, nada.
“Give me the silent treatment any other time ya want, but Shads, seriously.” The blue hedgehog knocks on the door a second time, exerting the effort to make the noise as loud as he can without being obnoxious. “I’m not against comin’ in.”
The house is silent, save for his own breathing, the muffled howling of the wind from the forest outside, and his own heartbeat, which picks up in pace with each passing second. The meager idea of returning to bed is now an excluded option.
Against all greater reason, the blue hedgehog lets his hand fall on the door’s handle, trying it with minimal force and finding it unlocked — and this lock works, he knows that well. “I’m comin’ in to do a wellness check, ‘kay?”
Is it a betrayal of their boundaries? It probably is, but when there were no boundaries previously even established, Blue cannot bring it in himself to be bothered; they can chew him out for it later, for all he cares. The door opens with ease, and the pleasant fragrance of soap assaults his senses within seconds.
To his relief, they aren’t sitting in the bathtub with their wrists slit, or anything of the sort. (And he knows, he knows it is projection from his side, he knows that they are the farthest possible person to resort to such a thing — but that’s what people say about him, too. If only everyone knew.) Instead, the dark hedgehog is sitting with his back to the door, with their thighs pressed up to their chest, head resting on their own knees. They make no move to acknowledge his presence.
They nearly appear dazed, if Blue was to know no better, and the hedgehog shuts the door behind him to prevent the warm moisture escaping — sure, the humidity sucks, but he would rather that than the rest of the cabin’s cold air to come flooding in.
Blue sits down on the toilet seat, tilting his head to take a closer look at his subject: “What’s up with you, huh?”
Shadow’s ear flicks around to the source of his voice, but no other acknowledgement is made of him — Blue has no idea what to make out of the sight before him. Are they. . .
“I never should have left the Federation.” A low whisper eventually surfaces, and their voice is strained, like the words hurt when they come clawing their way out of the hedgehog’s throat. Sonic hadn’t been expecting the mood to become so somber at a moment’s notice, and rightfully, in his opinion, he doesn’t know what to say.
“Shads, we– we talked about this,” he tentatively offers, “you– It was the only thing to do.”
Nothing is said in reply to his attempt at reassurance. For no more than a minute, the blue hedgehog waits for them, almost urges them to say something. However, in fear of setting them off into a further spiral, he decides to change the topic.
“Bath water ain’t cold yet?” He slips down from his seat to take up a place on the floor — closer to Shadow, while simultaneously giving them enough of their own space. The only problem is that the bathroom is already the most cramped space in the cabin, let alone with two Mobians occupying it. He softens his expression when he looks at them, but they aren’t even facing his direction.
“The water is fine.” Shadow mumbles, in a tone so low it could almost be missed.
Sonic waits for a further five minutes, keeping his space as though he were dealing with a terrified, skittish animal; only, the animal is a traumatised former soldier, manipulated into being the right-hand of a dictator dubbed his uncle. How much blood is on Shadow Robotnik’s hands? The question often crosses Sonic’s mind.
He considers easing them out of the tub, drying them off and convincing them to get some sleep, but before he has the chance to do so, he catches the fact that their quills haven’t even been touched by the water. It looks like they have been sitting here, doing nothing, for the last forty-something minutes.
“I. . .” Sonic musters up the courage to finish his sentence before he speaks again. “Want me to help you with your quills? Least I can do for you,” He damns the hesitance in his tone, but when the dark hedgehog replies with a near inaudible hum, Sonic takes initiative to crawl closer to the hedgehog. “‘Kay, jus’, let me know if I cross a line, or somethin’,”
He never deals with the survivors he rescues first-hand. Other than escorting them to safety, getting children reunited with their mothers, and directing Mobians to the closest Resistance base to seek shelter in; he always focuses on the action, on kicking robot-ass, on eliminating the threat. Hence, he’s not too sure what to do here, then again, he can never be sure with Shadow Robotnik.
He dips his hands into the water, finding the temperature lukewarm, not quite hot, but not yet cold.
With great forbearance, Sonic begins to wet their quills, all the while watching out for the hundreds of tiny knives he is dealing with to avoid pricking a finger. Shadow makes the process easier by staying deathly still, eerily silent, tilting their head back to give the blue hedgehog easier access, and turning their body to have Sonic facing their back.
“Why are you doing this?” Shadow suddenly asks, and while they make no sudden movement in tandem with their question, Sonic still stops dead in his tracks, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure of what to do, how to proceed.
“I-”
“Why did you stay?” The dark hedgehog mutters, almost as if they were speaking to themselves, “I don’t understand.”
Sensing that there is still more to be said, to be revealed, Sonic waits patiently, allowing himself to resume the rhythmic motion of washing Shadow’s quills. “You said it yourself, that Rose distrusts you for keeping in contact with me, for helping me to- For helping me, in the first place.”
“Yeah, man, so does Sally, an’ Knucks, and jus’ about everyone I know.” Sonic idly hums, “It doesn’t matter to me, ‘cause what I did was the right thing to do.”
“How do you know that?”
“I ain’t the face of the Freedom Fighters for nothin’, y’know. An’ asides, I know that staying would’ve killed you.” Sonic admits, letting his hands move subconsciously, weaving his fingers through their quills in as gentle of a manner as he can manage.
“Everyone hates me,” they say, “I can never show my face in the Federation again.”
“You can, after we defeat Eggman,” the blue hedgehog argues back, “you have some nerve if you seriously think we’re about to let him rule the world for, what, forever? Fat chance.”
“You’re naiive. Do you expect it to be easy? Do you seriously think you can just walk in and-”
“You weren’t easy.” Sonic refutes their statement preemptively, refusing to let them finish their sentence before staking his own claim. “You still aren’t, you never will be, an’ honestly, man, you were a bit of a nightmare at first,”
The dark hedgehog has nothing to say to him.
“You always sought me out when I had somethin’ to do, and that was the least of it, hah. I couldn’t even take a stroll through Westopolis without running into you,” he recalls the times of ambush in the city by the hybrid, the slew of Chaos spears he would have to dodge on an unforgiving Tuesday morning, or Sunday evening — there was, is, no rest when you live in the Federation. “But, I always knew you’d be there. And who were you to talk about your feelings? Short answer, you didn’t, never, and you still rarely do even now, but I guess I kinda get that.”
“If trying to get even with me helped you, or, did something, anythin’, I’m glad it did.” Sonic finishes.
“I killed innocent bystanders.” They say with a deep sense of finality, clearly urging to change the topic, or bring to light the darker sides of their relationship, but the blue hedgehog refuses to allow them to get the last word in.
“But how many people did you let go? How many people did you conveniently not see run past you?”
“Nothing changes the fact that I-”
“Yeah, Shads, nothing changes.”
A heavy silence falls over the two hedgehogs, an uneasy silence that brings tension heavy and thick enough to drown in. Blue’s heart is racing from the close proximity, because a mere four years ago, he could never imagine himself in this position, he could never imagine having grown so close to the other hedgehog.
A part of him misses it, almost. He misses their not-so-coincidental meetings, sneaking away from everyone else at the dead of night, lurking atop rooftops and watching over the sleeping city. Pretending, if even for just a moment, that everything was okay.
He thinks about the time they first removed their gloves in front of him (a gesture that meant no weight to Shadow, what with their cultural differences an’ such), but a moment that Sonic still thinks about night and day. He ponders back to when he first saw their bare hands, palms riddled with countless burn scars littered atop each other — some healed, but most not — a direct result of the hybrid abusing their Chaos powers.
The surface wounds are healed now, mostly, but the emotional pain is an entirely different matter.
The blue hedgehog finds himself lost in thought, mind set to washing his partner’s quills as carefully as he can: he nearly misses the quiet weeping from the hedgehog in front of him. It jolts him out of his winding thoughts immediately, and before he can compose himself, think about what to do next, he stops instantly.
Sonic has. . . he’s never seen Shadow cry — and, admittedly, he never even thought that they could. . . What is he meant to do in this situation?
“Y’know, it’s kinda crazy how far you’ve come,” he begins slowly, excruciatingly mindful of each word leaving his lips, as if a single incorrect move would be the death of him. It feels like diffusing a bomb, though even then, the metaphor does not feel that far-fetched, “I remember when you’d never even talk to me, or look at me; you were jet-set on getting me killed, or roboticized, on a good day.”
He laughs to himself, body tight with tension: “I know you hated Knothole, and everyone there hated you too-” he stops himself short, wincing internally at the intense misstep in words, “but, but, when all this blows over, I think you’d really like it there. And Sally doesn’t hate you, she just. . . she’s a lil’ unsure,” the hedgehog begins the slow process of rinsing the soap from their quills, taking essential care to prevent irritating their eyes with any soapy water. “I’m takin’ you back there, one day, whether you want me to or not. I never got to show you Rusty Ruins.”
The other hedgehog’s distressed demeanor remains, and Blue imagines it will for a while, hence he accelerates his effort to finish up as soon as humanly possible: if his hands were dry, he would wipe their tears without a second thought.
“I’ve hurt — killed — countless people. . .” Shadow begins to whisper after a moment, their voice choked and strained, weighed down with immense stress and pain.
“None of which you ever wanted to do, y’know,” he places a hand on the hedgehog’s shoulder in an attempt to reassure them, although, as expected, the gesture is in vain. He continues rinsing their quills with water, until bubbles are no more and the scent of soap begins to dull.
Shadow is still distraught when he finishes up, not that he would expect anything else: he passes them a fresh towel, turning around to give them their privacy as they dry their fur and wring their quills of moisture.
He sneaks a glance behind his back when he ensures they aren’t looking and won’t notice him, and his mind immediately runs blank, because all he can do is stare at him in awe. The golden bands around the hedgehog’s wrists and ankles hang loose when unsecured by the cuffs of his gloves, and he wonders how the weight of the inhibitors lacks in driving the hybrid insane. Then again, when it is the choice between wearing the rings, or burning up in a supernova of unfiltered Chaos energy, the lesser evil is surely the easier choice to make, he can imagine.
The metal glistens in the bathroom light, reflecting small specks of light across the room; tinted gold, not unlike a burning flame. Sonic takes a deep breath to ground himself, pulling the door open to linger in between the corridor and the bathroom. “You comin’?” He says after an extended moment passes, purging the urge to hold his hand out to the other hedgehog.
They follow him into the bedroom when they finish drying their quills to the best of their ability; their hands still shake and he sees tears welled up in his eyes, but decides against commenting on it, not until the pair reach the recluse of Shadow’s bedroom.
And Sonic holds them when they cry into his chest, when near-silent weeping turns into violent sobbing. He holds them with all his strength, but with delicate restraint, too, almost as if they are fragile — a tiny, little glass ornament one wants to protect with all of one’s might. The sobs rack their body brutally, with more force than all of the explosions they have ever stood in the midst of, their salty tears wet the sheets they have their face pressed into, muffling their cries to anyone else who could potentially be listening.
Shadow grasps onto him like he might just vanish, so Sonic presses a gentle kiss to the top of their head, a kiss so light it might just blow away in the slightest breeze it encounters.
He pulls the quilt closer over their trembling frame, giving them the choice to hide away from the world if they so desire, but he refuses to let them out of his grasp. The blue hedgehog wipes each tear from their face as it falls, combing a hand through their quills in a motion he can only hope comes across as soothing.
The black hedgehog mumbles something through his cries, something that falls unintelligible upon Sonic’s ears — he doesn’t ask them to repeat themselves, simply choosing to whisper soft reassurances instead.
Despite the situation, the atmosphere of the bedroom morphes into an oddly intimate one, something warm and itchy, but that Sonic would never allow to be pried from his hands, it’s something vastly different from the suffocating tension that plagued the bathroom, yet he doesn’t even know what changed. Blue eases them into laying down, shuffling away from the awkward position of half-sitting on the bed as they had both been before: he tactfully coerces them into crying into his shoulder, as cliché as it is.
As the minutes pass, and their crying neither waxes nor wanes with intensity, a distant part of Blue begins to hope that they tire themselves out eventually. He hopes that sleep will heal them, albeit slightly, and even if all he can do is sit here and be there for them, then so be it.