Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sonic has a great life. He has fantastic friends, albeit ones who can be invasive at times. He has a healthy body that lets him travel at speeds greater than any Mobian-made object could hope to achieve, although he doesn’t always treat it kindly. He has an awesome little brother — no caveat needed there. Sonic’s life is like one of those perfectly-even scales you see being held by Lady Justice in the opening cutscenes of c-tier court case television shows. That is Sonic’s life. Balanced, comfortable, and free.

And, notably, childless.

“Are you okay?”

Sonic looks up from where his head had been hanging between his shoulders, and towards the stranger opposite him; the one that’s dripping seawater onto his sofa. The stranger has a glass of apple juice in his trembling hands that’s spilling a little bit onto the wooden boards below, tinting it dark patches that look remarkably like teardrops.

“I’m…fine,” Sonic says after a moment, repeating himself for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, each reassurance gritted out through tighter teeth than the last.

The stranger on the couch shifts, drawing the blanket around his shoulders tighter while trying to sink into the cushions, as if he’s trying to disappear out of sight. He nods at Sonic’s response but clearly doesn't believe him, and why should he? Sonic is very clearly not okay. He’s not usually a ray of sunshine, sure, but it doesn’t take a genius to look at his glower and his sagging shoulders to see that he’s one unhappy hedgehog.

The thing is that Sonic was having a good day. A great day, in fact. Their group had planned to have a barbeque over at his place because the weather forecast had promised a hot summer’s day, and his ocean-front home (shack) was pretty perfect for that kind of thing. The week had been so-so, with one rogue attack from Eggman on Tuesday and some community service to help clean up the mess on Wednesday. A barbeque had been a perfect way to end an otherwise run-of-the-mill week.

Then, suddenly mid-way through setting up the charcoal and grills, the heavens had opened up and nailed it down across the whole island, washing away their plans before the coals even had a chance to heat up. The bonfire that took hours to build (an exaggeration: it took an hour) collapsed in on itself, and with their burgers and forty(ish) per-cent meat hot dogs soaked down to their core as victims of the downpour, everyone was left to fend for themselves inside Sonic’s shack. 

That was hours ago. Eventually, with the rain unrelenting, Amy, Sticks, and Tails returned to their own homes, leaving him sodden and alone in the quiet of his house. Knuckles went with them, returning to someone’s house to crash for the night — likely Tails’. Amy wasn’t all too keen to have Knuckles stay at hers considering the last time he bunked there he infested it with roaches. Even Sticks’ pad is a little too eccentric for Knuckles’ taste. 

But, aside from that, everything was fine. The plan was to wait for the storm to pass and recuperate tomorrow, picking up the meh week by the scruff of its neck and shaking some joy into it even if the weather remained shitty.

With the plans in place, Sonic had begun his nightly routine before settling in for some shut-eye. He’d been in the middle of unfurling the makeshift doors he uses on the opening of his hut (because the doorless-thing sounded like a great idea all the way back when he bought the place a couple of summers ago) when a flash of light split the slate-grey clouds like a theatre curtain. The thing whizzed through the dregs of the storm in a streak of pale white, plunging into the sea a good kilometre away from where Sonic stood at his door. He kept an eye out for any movement to indicate that it was something worth sticking around for, but meteor showers were pretty common this time of year and on this part of the continent, so all Sonic thought to himself was: wow, that’s a mighty-fine comet! before retreating back inside without much of a second thought.

It took all of ten minutes before the ‘comet’ crawled its way out of the ocean, dragged its limp body across the shore towards the familiar sight of Sonic’s hut, and rapped on the door as if it was trying to tear it off its hinges. And Sonic, in his less-than-great mood, had lifted up his shutter with a nasty curse on his tongue, only to be stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of a sopping-wet figure he’d never seen a before.

“Sonic,” the thing had wept, trying to push their slumped-over, tangled quills away from their eyes so they could get a better look at him. It only seemed to make things worse. Their quills were one, big tangled mat that looked like it weighed forty pounds, and sweeping it aside was fruitless; like trying to hold back a tsunami using nothing but bare hands. 

“...uh, do I know you?” Sonic had asked, already half-pulling down the door. He didn’t need another Mark the Tapir episode. One crazy encounter was enough, thank you very much.

His words had stopped his visitor in their tracks. They had paused, forced apart the tangle of quills from their eyes with their fingers, and stared up at Sonic’s confused, twisted expression. Two bright golden eyes tracked every single inch of Sonic’s face, and whatever they found there caused them to remark in quiet wonder: “Oh, good Gaia. I’ve time-travelled again.”

That had been a whole twenty minutes ago. Now, Sonic is none the wiser and certainly in no better mood, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin cradled on his steepled fingers as he tries to perform the simple task of thinking critically when his brain is overheating like an old, dusty computer.

The figure opposite him is now notably less soaked, having been (kindly) offered a towel and a glass of apple juice as a gesture of hospitality. Now that this person looks a little less like a drowned rat, Sonic can see that this is clearly another hedgehog, though not one that he recognises.

The hedgehog community on Seaside Island and its wider catchment area is pretty tight; besides himself, Amy, and he-who-shall-not-be-named-in-the-Sonic-household-anymore, he can count the number of hedgehogs he knows on a single hand, and none of them have silver fur. In fact, this person — hedgehog, comet-alien-thing — doesn’t look like anyone Sonic knows at all, which makes this whole situation weirder. 

Maybe he’s just a fan, Sonic’s ego supplies. That would make sense of how he recognises me, right? A crazy fan. That’s the only way to explain the story he’s trying to tell.

“Let me get this straight,” Sonic repeats as he presses his hands together in a praying motion and sets his fingertips below his chin. It prompts the stranger opposite to sit up, the towel dropping from his shoulder to half-fall in his lap in a wet slump. “You’re trying to tell me that you just…fell from the sky by accident ‘cause you time travelled?”

His quills bob as he nods. “Yeah.”

“And you landed right outside my house. Conveniently.”

“I actually landed in the ocean.”

Sonic waves him off. “Same thing.” He clears his throat and slips his fingers from the flat praying motion into one where his fingers are interlocked and his knuckles are clenched. He squeezes his hands tight to ground himself, to remind himself that he’s not losing his mind. “Y’know, I don’t mean to sound insensitive or anything, but…do you need me to call someone for you? A hospital? A parent to come pick you up?”

The stranger’s expression twists into something perplexed, not quite understanding what Sonic’s asking of him until it clicks and his face morphs. “You think I’m lying?”

Sonic holds his palms out in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying you’re lying,” he responds, treading carefully. He does not want to aggravate a crazy person if he can avoid it. “I’m just wondering if you…hit your head on the way down, or something. I mean, you hit the ocean at a pretty fast speed.”

“I’m not concussed,” he responds in a tone far more level than his unbelievable story would justify. “I told you: I time travelled from the future.”

“Right,” Sonic acknowledges, clearly unconvinced. When the stranger offers no response other than a searing, intense stare, like he’s trying to force Sonic to believe him through the sheer pressure behind his eyes, Sonic offers a grin that’s more grimace than it is a smile. “What did you say your name was…?”

“Silver,” Silver says. Sonic puts two and two together between the name and the silver fur covering the hedgehog’s skinny frame, and thinks to himself: yeah, that makes sense. 

“Silver,” Sonic repeats, going for a friendly tone that’s as plastic as his smile. He releases his hands and puts them on his thighs to push to stand. “You hang tight, alright? I’m gonna make some calls and get you home safe and sound.”

Silver makes a quiet noise of distress. The glass of juice in his hand squeaks as his damp gloves tighten their hold. “You still don’t believe me,” he mutters, watching Sonic as he stands to his full height.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Sonic corrects. “But you just told me that you’re a time-traveller from the future, and someone who knows me when we’ve definitely never met before. Don’t you think that’d make a guy a little concerned?”

Silver makes another sound, something caught between a cry and a sigh. “I know. I get it — I get how weird this must seem, but you have to believe me. I know you. And you know me.” He adjusts his hold on the glass. “I know how wild it sounds, but I’m not concussed, and I’m not crazy. Heck, I don’t even know what year I’m in. All I know is that one minute I was back home, trying to practice a new ability, and the next thing I know I’m travelling back in time again.”

“...again?”

The hedgehog rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly bashful. “Yeah. You see, I can time travel. It’s kinda my thing.”

Of course, Sonic thinks to himself with casual hysteria. Just…his thing. This kid in my living room just casually mentioned that he can time travel. Y’know, that thing everyone can do? Piece of cake!

Oblivious to Sonic’s mental commentary, the stranger opposite continues. “I’ve jumped spots in time before but nothing…nothing like this.” He frowns down at the half-drunk glass of juice in his hand. “If I’ve travelled back in time, then I’ve technically created a new branch of our current timeline. Oh gosh.” One hand leaves the juice to rake anxiously through the damp quills near his shoulder, twisting them in his grip. “Oh nuts. I’ve really messed up this time.”

“Slow down,” Sonic says, holding up a hand. “Woah, that doesn’t usually come out of my mouth. Er…start from the beginning. I wasn’t really listening when you told the story the first time.”

Feeling like he’s at least breaking through Sonic’s scepticism, Silver straightens out in his seat, shifting to get comfortable with the newfound surge of energy. “Okay. So, um, what I think has happened is that I’ve travelled back in time to some time in the past before you met me in your future. I mean. I don’t know how far along, but I know you pretty well, and everything here is so different that it makes me think I’ve gone back…quite far.” He casts a quick glance around the room. “The house doesn’t normally look like this.”

“You’ve been to my house in the ‘future’?”

“Yeah. Loads of times. I told you, we’re friends. You’re, like, kinda my mentor.”

“Mentor, huh,” Sonic echoes in a flat, disbelieving tone. “Can you run fast?”

“No.”

Sonic grimaces. Why on Mobius would he choose to mentor someone who can’t even do the one thing Sonic’s best at? 

He flattens his expression and continues. “Okay. One thing I gotta check, though: you’re sure you’re from this timeline? And not a different dimension?”

Silver’s expression crinkles in confusion, so Sonic elaborates: “If you’re from a different dimension and you’ve hopped onto this one, then we’re got a bigger problem on our hands. You’re not some evil version of your current-day-self, are you?” Sonic’s hands come up in defense of his own words. “No offence if you are. It just means we’ve gotta…uh, handle things a little differently.”

“What? No.” He frowns down at the wavering surface of his apple juice. “I’m not. I know I’m not.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, one-thousand per cent.”

Sonic breathes a sigh of relief. Phew, crisis averted. “Good. Otherwise, you’ll cause a catastrophic anomaly that’ll destroy our entire universe, and I do not want to see that happen today.”

Silver’s face twists in mild confusion. Not put off by the gravity or scale of what Sonic’s saying, just at how casually he mentions it. “Has that happened recently?”

“Story for another day.” Sonic idly waves off Silver’s comment, and shifts to get a little more comfortable on the sofa by folding one leg over his knee and sinking further into the cushions. This way, it feels less like an interrogation, and more like a conversation. Besides, Silver appears to still be a kid, certainly younger than Tails if Sonic’s guess is right. He might be in a foul mood, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to pick on a child. 

“So,” Sonic prompts, levelling the stranger with an arched brow, “you know you’re not from another universe, huh? You weren’t bothered by the whole ‘catastrophic anomaly’ thing.”

“Ah, no. Like I said, I know you. You’re Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“Of course I am—”

“Just…a younger version of the one I know.”

“Ah,” Sonic says, stopping himself in his tracks. “...that’s the caveat.”

The glass is placed down with a quiet clack on Sonic’s coffee table — a new addition to his shack after they renovated it earlier this year. When his roof caved in after a bad storm, Sonic took the chance to do the place up a little, which has resulted in the place looking less like a bedsit and more like an actual home.  The shack is still a shack — no amount of furniture or well-intentioned feng shui advice from Amy can polish this turd — but it’s certainly more of a home than it ever previously was. There’s still no functioning door, just a wooden shutter Sonic rolls down during storms, but he now has a little kitchenette, a living area, a tiny bathroom, and even a second floor. With the freedom to build a new roof, they decided to extend upwards by a couple of metres which made way for a loft space. It’s pretty small considering the taper of the straw ceiling, but with flooring added in and a ladder built onto the massive tree trunk in the centre of the house, he now has a secluded place to sleep that isn’t right in the middle of the entryway.

Does everyone still prefer to go over Tails’ or Amy’s for film night? Absolutely, Sonic’s not about to put up a fight with that one. But it’s still nice to have somewhere…well, a little nicer to come back to after a long adventure. Plus, it’s less drafty. Better for the winter. 

With his hands now free, Silver lifts the blanket back up to wrap around his shoulders and hold under his chin. He rises from his seat and with small, shuffling steps, rounds the table towards Sonic. 

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Silver says in wonder. He sweeps his drooping quills away from his face, revealing those strange amber eyes, bright like two fireflies, almost unnerving in their intensity. His head tilts, watching Sonic like he’s never seen anything so magnificent. “I really…can’t believe it.”

Silver’s attitude is a little offputting, sure, but he’s preening Sonic’s pride in a way he can’t help but delight in. He merely scoffs at his words, and reclines further back onto the sofa. “Yep, that’s me. Fastest thing alive. In the flesh.”

“No, no,” Silver cuts across, holding up a long, slim hand, dousing the flames of Sonic’s roaring ego. “No, I know you, Sonic. It’s just crazy to see a version of you.”

There it is again: that strange way of speaking, as if he somehow knows Sonic on a personal level, as if they have a close relationship. “Oh, yeah. Do you know ‘me’ well where you’re from?”

“Yes,” Silver responds, nodding enthusiastically. 

“In what way? Wait.” Sonic reins himself in forcibly. “Where did you say you came from again?”

Silver exhales a bluster, the force of it blowing a thick quill clump away from his eyes. “That depends on what you’re asking.”

“...in what way?”

“Are you asking me where I’m from location-wise, or time-wise? Because those are two very different things.”

“Uh, both, I guess.”

Silver takes a seat next to Sonic, looking up at him with his massive, unblinking eyes. “I’m from the future. Your future, anyway, I think?” Silver scratches the back of his head as he suddenly lapses into thought. “What year is it?”

“...what year are you from?”

“Twenty-twenty-six.”

“Oh, shit,” Sonic curses. He clears his throat after a moment when Silver’s quills bristle at his tone. “Yeah, you definitely travelled back in time.”

“What year is it?” he asks with sudden, panicked urgency.

“Twenty-eighteen,” Sonic says, offering a wan smile when he watches all of the colour drain from Silver’s already drawn expression. “You sure you haven’t just…hit your head? Are you sure you’re from the future? I mean, it’s not that I don’t believe you. Stranger things sure as hell have happened around here, but…y’know, maybe you’re concussed.”

“No, no,” Silver whispers, shaking his head. He’s still staring up at Sonic’s face, searching for something he simply can’t find, his expression twisting in fear as the reality of the situation settles in on him. “No. I’ve lived most of my life on Seaside Island with you all. It was all real.”

“You sure?”

Silver’s expression pinches. “Yes. Of course. It’s real — it must’ve been.”

“Then prove it.” Sonic angles his body so he’s facing Silver better, and leans onto the back of his sofa. He arches a brow. “You say you know me, right? Or…me from the future. Uh…” Sonic looks down at his fingers while he counts. “The thirty-one year-old me.”

“Yes. You’re like a big brother to me.”

Sonic doesn’t let himself sit with that even for a second, and promptly steamrolls over that statement without sparing it so much as a second thought before he continues: “Then tell me something only I would know.”

“What do you mean…?” Silver trails off, confused by what Sonic’s asking of him.

Sonic gestures vaguely to the space between them. “Well, if you’re from an alternate dimension, then the me over there won’t be the same as the me over here, y’know? If you claim that you’ve really time travelled from our future, then prove it. Tell me something only I would know.”

Silver’s expression screws up as he chews over Sonic’s words. It smooths out as he lapses into silence while he thinks — and he thinks hard — before he responds in a simple, matter-of-fact tone: “You shed your arm hair in the summer and take supplements to grow it back quicker so no one notices—”

“Alright,” Sonic interjects loudly, cutting off Silver’s response.

What the fuck, Sonic internal hysteria cries. How the hell does he know that?

“How’d you know that?” he demands aloud, trying not to let his fear leak into his voice. Could Silver be bluffing? Possibly. But this whole setup is so absurd in the first place that an absurd answer feels, strangely, proportional. 

“Because I do. Because I know you,” Silver reiterates, this time with the confidence of someone who knows he’s finally being taken seriously. “Do you believe me now?”

“Yeah, I believe you, that’s fine. Just, uh…” He muffles a cough into a closed fist. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course.” Silver motions by drawing a zipper across his mouth. “It’s okay, Sonic. No one minds in the future.”

“Yeah, well, I mind in the present.”

In the aftermath of Silver apparently getting through to Sonic, and Sonic left stewing in the realisation that this kid may be the real deal, he finds that he’s back at square one again, no further ahead than where he was twenty-something minutes ago when this stranger turned up at his door. Dimension hopping is one thing — relatively straight forward, only possible with advanced technology, but a somewhat linear process.

Time travel is a whole different beast. Not even Eggman fucked with that kind of thing because of how messy it could get.

Leaving aside whether time-travel should even be possible, its implications alone are a Pandora's box of headache-inducing risks to consider. How has Silver been able to travel backwards in time without rewriting the future? Is time considered linear and absolute, and if Silver really has travelled back in time, how big of an impact does that have on Sonic’s life in the present and, supposedly, his future?

With the silence in the room growing thick, accompanied by a ringing, tinny noise resonating from the base of his skull he can attribute to the beginnings of a stress headache, Sonic finds himself looking at Silver. Really looking at him, this time. 

He’s this tiny, weedy thing, with huge lanterns for eyes that seem to glow even from behind closed eyelids. Sonic initially thought he might’ve been around Tails’ age, but now that he’s sitting closer he can see that Silver is younger than Tails’ fifteen. Not only that, there’s barely any fat or muscle on him. He’s totally covered in this thick, fluffy fur that doesn’t quite hide his protruding edges or the dark rings beneath his eyes.

Suddenly, Sonic finds his initial reluctance to let this stranger in his house give way, softened by concern for his state. 

“Are your parents going to be worried about you being gone?” Sonic asks.

“I don’t have parents,” Silver responds, the comment said so matter-of-factly without any preamble that Sonic doesn’t have time to brace himself before reacting with a pitying tut. He’s been there — he knows the feeling. It’s never nice explaining it as an adult, but even less so as a child. Still, who’s looking after Silver, if not for some kind of parental figure? That sure as hell won’t be Sonic in the future, so surely, he must have someone else.

“Like…?” Sonic prompts when Silver makes no move to expand.

“I just don’t have any,” Silver says. He must notice the grimace on Sonic’s face, because he’s quick to reassure. “But it’s okay! I have an awesome family in the future, y’know? Like, I’ve got you, and I’ve got—”

“Stop!” Sonic’s hand flies out to clasp over Silver’s mouth. His narrow face grows taut under Sonic’s hold, those massive, candlelight-flame eyes peering up into his own startled pair. He quickly pulls back, worried about hurting the kid, and keeps his hands at an awkward half-hang mid air. “I’m sorry, it’s just — isn’t one of the first rules about time travel not to talk about time travel? Or, the future?”

“Oh!” He quickly moves to cup his own mouth. “I hadn’t even thought of that. You’re right.”

“Has this kind of thing happened before? The whole…” Sonic gives a vague motion. “Time-travel-ly thing.”

“Yes? Kind of?” His hand rises to the back of his head to scratch his quills. “Um, I’m not sure how much you want me to say, but to make a long story short: yes, this has happened before. Time-travelling is one of my powers.” His hand falls to hold out in front of him, rotating it in its splayed position. “Pretty cool, right? Not.” He huffs a dry laugh. “I can’t control it. I’ve been trying recently and I’ve been training, but…well, you can see it hasn’t gone super well, considering I’m here.”

“Okay,” Sonic responds slowly, nodding as he starts to piece together what he thinks might be a fuller picture of what’s happened. “So, you’re able to time travel, but you can’t control it, which is why you ended up eight years in the past.”

“That’s right,” Silver confirms enthusiastically, his damp quills bouncing with the force of it.

“I mean, what are the ramifications of you being here? Y’know…time travel-wise.” Sonic frowns. “I know that timelines can get pretty messed up if someone ends up jumping around. Does it, like, rewrite the future? Or, are you already re-writing the past?”

Silver’s head cocks to the side as he considers Sonic’s question. He takes a moment, humming beneath his breath as he tries to think of a response that’s simple enough to explain to someone who’s still reeling from the whole situation.

“I’m not super sure,” Silver prefaces after a moment, as if he’s claiming no liability for his own words here on out, “but I think by jumping back in time I’ve created a branch along our linear timeline. Nothing I do here will affect the future, because I come from a different future to the current one you’re destined to follow.”

Sonic’s head tilts infinitesimally. “I don’t…” he trails off, a little lost.

“It’s really not too difficult if you think about it—”

“Not for you, but it is for me.” A pause. “Not that I’m not capable of difficult thoughts, but you know what I mean.”

Silver nods bashfully. “I know that, Sonic!”

The sycophantic behaviour’s a little much, but it’s certainly better than being called an idiot for not understanding what’s proving to not only be a very complicated situation, but a messy one, too.

“Give me a second,” Sonic excuses himself, pushing to stand with a grunt. The headache has now bloomed from its cluster at the base of his neck to stretch across his forehead, wrapping around his skull like a bandana. “I’m gonna make a couple’a calls. You still good on your juice?” He glances over to the coffee table and to the half-drunk glass. “Finish that. I’ll be back in a second.”

Silver brightens considerably. He scoots to the edge of the sofa, and asks in an excited tone: “Who are you calling?”

“Uh, Tails?” Sonic responds, immediately feeling his stomach drop at the potential ramifications of what he just did.

Fortunately, no look of horror passes across Silver’s face. “Alright,” he says easily, settling back down once he has his juice and pulling the towel around his shoulder a little tighter.

Shit. What happens if I say something wrong, and he tells me one of my friends died in the future? Or, if Eggman ends up taking over? Sonic slaps his cheeks to snap himself out of his panic and takes a step away from the sofa.

The worry doesn’t recede. Sonic feels like he’s being tempted by something he can hardly resist, something that feels like it wouldn’t harm by just having a little taste, by taking a tiny bite of the apple.

“...is Tails okay in the future?” Sonic asks apprehensively, the words leaving his mouth before he can reign himself in.

Damn it, Sonic! Rule one-oh-one of time-travel — do not ask about the future! You know this!

When Silver opens his mouth to respond, Sonic holds up his palm in Silver’s direction and quickly amends: “Wait, don’t respond. I don’t want anything to change the future if I find out something I’m not meant to.”

“He’s fine,” Silver says anyway. “You two are best friends.”

“Okay,” Sonic responds coolly, relieved, despite the weakness in his legs that comes from a sudden surge of adrenaline. He feels like he’s just narrowly missed a scrape with death, like he’s having to walk away after missing the last step on the stairs as if his life didn’t just flash before his eyes.

There’s so many things he’s tempted to ask: Does Eggman win? Are my friends all still okay? What is the world like? Am I dating anyone? Am I still the fastest thing alive? But, they all die on his tongue, temptation out-weighed by the risk Sonic knows that could come from giving in to his own curiosity.

No, focus, Sonic. You need to get help A.S.A.P.! 

He grounds himself with a little pinch to his thigh and another stern mental talking-to. Focus! “I’m just gonna go, uh…”

He excuses himself to the non-existent privacy at the farthest end of his house. There’s a small dividing wall between the living room and the kitchenette that, much like the rest of his house, is doorless. The wall’s only half-sized, certainly nothing big enough for it to really block out sound or light, but it’ll have to make do. 

He leans against the windowsill of one window looking out towards the lush greenery out back, tugs down the cuff of his glove, and immediately calls Tails on his communicator. 

“Come on, come on…” Sonic urges quietly, giving a quick glance over his shoulder to Silver on the sofa, who’s watching him with those bright eyes and a smile. When he sees Sonic looking, he offers a friendly wave.

At last, the communicator on the other end is answered and Tails picks up. “What?” his voice comes, muffled as if there’s something in his mouth. A screwdriver, Sonic suspects, and judging by his tone Sonic probably interrupted him mid-whatever he was doing.

“Tails. Buddy. Uh, I have a problem.”

“On a scale of one-to-ten—”

“Eleven.”
A sigh crackles through the receiver. There’s a distant clank, as if Tails has set down the tool held previously in his mouth, before he adjusts into a comfortable talking position, knowing that this isn’t going to be a straight-forward request. “Do you want me to come over, or do you want to come to mine?”

“Uh.” Sonic glances over his shoulder again before he cups his hand around the microphone and tucks his wrist close to his chest. “I dunno, man. I’m freaking out. I’ve got a guy here who claims to have time-travelled from the future and he’s on my sofa.”

“Is he concussed?”

“No, he’s legit. I asked a question and it was pretty spot-on.”

“Can you just kick him out?”

Sonic tosses yet another glance over his shoulder and makes eye-contact with Silver. Silver’s happy, open face looks back at him and offers another wave. “No,” Sonic whispers back into the microphone. “He’s a kid. He looks younger than you.”

“I’m not a kid, Sonic.”

“You’re fifteen.”

“Not a kid.”

“Fine, a teenager — whatever.” Sonic pivots at his stance near the window and comes to stand in the doorway. He leans against the frame and asks across the meagre distance: “Silver, how old are you?”

“I’m nine!” he responds, flashing both hands: one with five fingers held up, and one with four to enunciate his point.

“He’s nine,” Sonic says back into the microphone, turning back into the kitchen to stare anxiously out the window, as if looking at anything other than the interior of his home would somehow help separate him from the situation at hand. “He’s from a future that knows us, so…”

The tinny speaker on his wrist makes an awful, clattering sound as something on Tails’ end is knocked over, like a tin box full of pennies. He curses under his breath before attending to the source of the sound, and from Sonic’s knowledge of Tails’ mannerisms and the state of his workshop, he imagines he’s accidentally knocked over his tool tray from surprise at Sonic’s words.

“Crap. Have you asked him anything about our future?” Tails asks when he gets his bearings, sounding out-of-breath. When Sonic doesn’t immediately respond, Tails cries: “One-oh-one time travel no-no, Sonic! ‘Do not ask about the future’!”

“I know, I know!” he placates in a whisper-shout. “It was by accident!”

Another sigh crackles through the speaker. Tails’ brain is working overtime, even more-so than Sonic’s. But if there’s one guy in all of this that he knows who to turn to when times are tough, it’s Tails. Even if he doesn’t have a solution, he’ll go through all nine-hundred of the ones that aren’t possible before calling them a write-off. Sonic’s never seen him tackle a problem he hasn’t been able to solve before, and he hopes this isn’t the first one to make that list.

“Can you guys come to mine?” Tails requests. “If he’s really from the future, then I’ll be able to prove it with some of the tech I have in my workshop.”

“You have a tool that can do that?”

“Not exactly, but I’m able to carbon-date any items of clothing he has on to validate his claims. Same with any other kind of radiation he has on him. Science doesn’t lie.”

“Okay,” Sonic responds, finding a sudden boost of confidence in Tails’ assurances. “We’ll head out now, and get there as soon as we can.”

“I’m in my workshop. Don’t bother knocking — the door’s open.”

“Great. Thanks, buddy.”

“Keep your questions minimal,” Tails orders, his voice stern the same way it gets when Sonic’s handling one of his gadgets that has the potential to create a black hole or a tear in the space-time continuum. “If he reveals anything that could change the course of our pre-determined timeline, then it could be catastrophic. It could re-write time in real-time, and then create a vicious cycle of time being constantly re-written.”

“Okay,” Sonic says, as if he knows what any of that means. “Alright, speak soon. Bye.”

The communicator goes dead as he’s hung-up on unceremoniously. Sonic rolls the cuff of his glove back up and flashes a weary smile at Silver across the room, who’s considerably dryer than he was just ten minutes ago. His quills are starting to take some shape, though ‘shape’ is a generous word for what looks like a few thinner sections at the front of his head with two massive clumps on his rearside. They largely fall flat against his head, drooping around his ears and hanging past his jaw to brush the bottom of his ribcage. Really, he could probably do with a hot shower and a good shampoo but that’ll have to wait — they have more important things to deal with.

“You good to head out in the rain?” Sonic prompts, heading back into the living space. 

“Are we leaving?” he asks, setting his juice aside and standing up.

He’s not far off Sonic’s height despite his age. Sonic’s twenty-three, but even with Silver being a nearly whole decade younger than him, he’s already standing at Sonic’s shoulder-height. Unlike Sonic’s lean frame, Silver is all gangly limbs and protruding joints that would ordinarily lead Sonic to believe he’s being malnourished would it not be for the excellent condition of his coat, the fur around his neck, and the fact that he supposedly plays such a big role in Sonic’s life in the future. Annoyance or not, Sonic would never let a kid go hungry. Silver’s probably just a couple of years away from growing into his skin, hence the disproportionality of him. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna head over to Tails’,” Sonic explains as he checks his communicator and casts a glance out to the muggy evening air. It’s dusk now, that strange denim colour that washes the sky out when it’s somewhere beyond sunset but not quite nighttime, blurred at the edges by the drizzle of the rain. “I don’t know the technicalities of time-travel but I’m pretty sure we’ve gotta, like, avoid you from seeing as much of the present-day as we can.”

“I think that only matters if I come from the past. I’m from the future, where all of this has already happened, so I don’t think it’s too much of a risk,” Silver suggests. “I already know what will happen to you. It’s you who doesn’t know what will happen.”

Sonic gives a slow nod, pretending Silver’s calm explanation doesn’t give him the heebie-jeebies. “Okay,” he says again, absolutely nothing Silver said resonating with him. “Well, uh, let me just lock up and we’ll go.”

“You don’t have a door.”

“Figure of speech.”

He switches off the lights and pulls the rafters down on his windows so the rain doesn’t seep in while he and Silver are out, and tucks the shutter he usually keeps rolled-up down so his ‘door’ is closed before they head off into the murky evening. The sky’s already mostly dark, with a little light peeking through the grey clouds, but it’s otherwise a dreary walk from his house to Tails’ broken up with brief respite under the tree canopies. 

Sonic watches Silver from the corner of his eye as they tread down the sodden pathway taking him from the beach into the town. His eyes seem to twinkle as they drink everything in; the palmtrees, the rocks, the scuttling crabs, the streetlights, all of it so mundane and yet so clearly fascinating to Silver that Sonic wonders if the future eight years from now is really so horrific that the sight of something as simple as a fern is enough to steal his breath away.

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, Sonic urges himself, having to bite down on his tongue to physically stop himself from blurting the questions he so desperately wants to pose.

To distract from his nagging thoughts, Sonic casts his eyes back to the asphalt path ahead and links his hands behind his head. The rain from earlier has reduced to a drizzle, so faint it’s more of a mist that seems to hang in the air rather than form droplets big enough to fall. It catches in Sonic and Silver’s fur, coating the outer layers of their body like a fine dust.

“So…” Sonic prompts a few minutes into their walk, feeling restless at the silence that stretches between them like a taut wire. “What were you doing before you, uh, got here?”

Silver blinks over at Sonic. His eyes, two burning pools of gold, are like fireflies on the dim pathway. “Oh…um, I don’t know how much I should say,” Silver responds apprehensively. “You said not to say too much, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Sonic wets his lips and casts his gaze to the town square as they walk through its empty lot. It’s not like a little information’s going to hurt, right? Curiosity outweighs the posed consequences, and Sonic continues: “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I mean, is the future really that different? Is that why you’re nervous to speak too much about it?”

“No, not really. That’s why I’m staring; it all looks like how it’s always looked. The street looks a little different, I guess, but it’s still the street. And you.” Silver looks back up to Sonic with a twinkle in his eye and the ghost of a smile on his face. “You’re still you. You’re just like how I remember you always being. Except younger.”

Sonic makes a yuck sound. “Don’t say that like the ‘me’ you know is old.”

“Old-er.”

Sonic’s face wrinkles. Somehow, the very notion of it seems impossible. Him? Old? Maybe technically, but he would sooner eat his foot than even entertain the idea. Age is one of those inevitable things that will eventually come for him, but that doesn’t mean Sonic’s not going to try and hold back the river for as long as he can. Isn’t thirty the age where you start going grey, and feeling pains in your knees? Isn’t that the age where you start to ‘settle down’? Whatever the hell that means.

His whole livelihood, his reputation, all of it built on the idea of being free. And why shouldn’t it? He doesn’t need to be tied down by the other things that seem to weigh down the rest of the population. Living as a nomad (although, alright, one technically with a home) and as free as the wind is him. What’s so appealing about the hypothetical future where things like that become more difficult to sustain?

“Yeah, but am I…old in the future?” Sonic asks uneasily. “Like, old-old. An old guy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Silver admits, the ghost of his smile growing into something fuller. 

“Like, grey quills and stuff.” He pats the top of his head cautiously, as if feeling for the very things he’s swearing out to existence. “Reading glasses. Bad knees. Boring.”

Silver laughs for the first time since crash-landing on Sonic’s front yard. It’s more of a giggle than anything, hidden behind his fingers and chirped out like the twitter of birdsong. “Not really. You’re…different. I guess. But you’re still you.” He pauses, drawing them into silence as gravel crunches underfoot. He studies Sonic’s face, eyes flitting across his features. “I think…” Silver trails off with a thoughtful hum. “I think you’re happier.”

That doesn’t make anything better, Sonic thinks a little hysterically as he angles his body to better face Silver, unable to hold himself back from diving head-first into a conversation he knows he shouldn’t have. Screw impacting the timeline — this is damaging to Sonic’s ego, and that takes precedent.

“Does that mean I'll be miserable in the future?” he asks in a high, tight voice. 

“What? No.” The corner of Silver’s mouth quirks up into another small smile. “I meant that I think you’re happier in the future.”

That strikes Sonic like a bullet.

Happier? Me? In the future? The notion seems ludicrous.

But I’m not unhappy now, he thinks to himself with a frown, turning back to the path ahead as Silver’s words settle on his skin the same way the rain seems to: cold, tacky, uncomfortable. “That doesn’t make sense,” Sonic says after a moment, voicing his thoughts aloud. “Why would I be happier in the future? I love my life right now. I don’t know how it could get any better.”

“Really?” Silver questions, innocent, curious the same way young kids tend to be. “Alright, if you say so.”

“Well, what the hell is that meant to mean?”

“Nothing,” Silver says, offering a shrug. “I just…I see you smile more in the future. You don’t look super happy to me right now.”

Sonic huffs out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest as they take a fork in the road to head to higher ground. “Yeah, well, I’m in a bit of a weird situation right now where smiling isn’t the first thing on my mind.”

“Okay,” Silver responds, offering another nonchalant shrug. He’s not deliberately provoking Sonic, merely humouring him and taking his words for granted, but it still bothers him in a way that feels disproportionate. What does this kid know about Sonic? What gives him the right to say something like that?

Chill out, Sonic chides, talking himself down from the tizzy he’d started to get worked into. He didn’t say it to be a dick. He’s a kid, he probably doesn’t even realise how it came across. Let it go.

With a huff, Sonic turns his body back to face the road as they spend the rest of the walk in silence. While Silver seems largely unbothered, perfectly happy to study the sight of Hedgehog Village as they pass through the centre of the town all the way towards Tails’ workshop on the outskirts, Sonic isn’t feeling the same contentness. Silver’s words have planted a seed in his head, and one that he can’t help but irrigate. 

Why would I be happier in the future? What’s wrong with me now? Does that mean that Eggman’s gone? I mean, I don’t even hate the guy, he’s just a nuisance. Is it an age thing? Maybe he just hasn’t seen the happy me in the present. He’s probably just confused. Yeah, definitely, that’s gotta be the reason.

His rambling thoughts come to a halt as they finally spot Tails’ workshop through the haze of the drizzling rain, washed out like a watercolour painting. 

“Let’s go,” Sonic encourages, kicking up his speed a notch. Silver follows behind, albeit a little slower, all gangly limbs that are no match for Sonic’s most tepid jog. By the time they reach the workshop the cold’s beginning to seep into his skin and Sonic wants nothing more than to find a hot corner of the workshop to curl up in, ideally one near an open fire or that kiln Tails has near the far wall. Silver’s in no better condition, maybe even worse given the fact that he has little to no fat on him in the first place, and it shows with his knocking knees and shattering teeth.

They walk towards the sliver of amber light peeking out from the bottom of a shutter pulled a few inches from the ground. Sonic tugs it up and keeps it there so Silver can slip under before he joins him and lets the shutter fall with a rattle that seems to echo throughout the cluttered, though thankfully warm, space of the workshop.

It smells like fire and brimstone and motor-oil and something cottony, something warm: the unmistakable atmosphere that seemingly encompasses Tails. He’s standing on a stepladder with his goggles pulled down over his face, dark smears streaking up his arms like tire treadmarks, and a rag in his hand while the other fiddles with a panel on the Tornado’s side. He hears, rather than sees, his nighttime visitors.

“‘s that you, Sonic?” he calls, only half-visible from the entryway.

“Yeah, it’s us!” he calls back, crossing the short distance to where Tails is half-stuck into the Tornado’s cockpit. Behind him Silver trails in quiet awe, drinking in the size of the space and its intricacies. 

Tails pulls himself out of the cockpit with a heave and a grunt. He wipes his hands and gloves down with the rag before he pulls his goggles up and sets them on his forehead, leaving two saucer-sized clean spots on his face that’re considerably lighter than the fur around it.

As soon as he sets his eyes on Silver, and Silver sets his eyes on Tails, they both remark: “Woah.”

“You’re tiny,” Silver says as an afterthought, immediately clapping his hand over his mouth when he registers what he’s just said. “Oh, gosh, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so sorry.”

Tails’ unimpressed glare swivels to focus on Sonic. He meets him with a raised brow, a silent: care to explain?

“Tails, meet Silver.” Sonic gives Silver’s shoulder a nudge, pushing him forward like a coach would when they’re putting their best player on the front-line in a losing game. “Silver, meet Tails. Or, well, I suppose you already know him.”

“Hi.” Silver gives an enthusiastic wave. Tails is still on his ladder, standing considerably higher than both Silver and Sonic, and he makes it known with the way he studies him down the bridge of his nose. Silver, fortunately, doesn’t seem to notice the way Tails is silently picking him apart. “I really didn’t mean to call you tiny.”

“Hmph.” Tails hops off the stool and, unfortunately, his point doesn’t hold much water when both Sonic towers over him by a good few inches and Silver matches him in height. He levels Sonic with another questioning one this look, and Sonic merely shrugs. What else is he meant to say?

“So,” Tails prompts.

“So,” Sonic echoes, drawing out the vowel.

When no one else moves to fill the silence that stretches, Tails shifts to lean against the Tornado as he directs the butt-end of his screwdriver at Silver. “Sonic explained what happened over the communicator, but let me get this straight before anything crazy happens. You’re not from an alternate dimension?” 

“No.” When Silver shakes his head, his quills sway with the motion. “I’m from your future.”

“Are you sure? I mean, dimension-hopping and time-travel aren’t mutually exclusive.” He pushes from the Tornado to circle Silver, his screwdriver tucked into his toolbelt while he holds a hand to his chin in thought, taking in the sight of him. Silver, like a well-trained soldier, huffs in a breath and stands up straight with a puffed chest while Tails sizes him up from the messy thatch of quills on top of his head to the remarkably clean soles of his shoes. Without asking permission, he reaches out for Silver’s hand and studies his gloves with a scrutinising eye, before eventually countering: “How can you be certain?”

Sonic exhales a bluster and glances out the window to the outdoors. It’s dark and still a little drizzly so it’s difficult to make out much, but Sonic’s not looking for something; he’s merely checking for the absence of it. “Well, the sky hasn’t turned purple and there’s no crazy lightning clouds so it’s safe to say the world isn’t falling apart. No catastrophic anomalies inbound, I guess.”

“True,” Tails mutters, holding Silver’s hands out in a splay to study his concealed paws before he takes a closer look at the thick bands of gold on his wrists. “Though we can’t be too sure. Catastrophic anomalies can happen due to unexpected changes in timelines at any given point. Who knows what fluctuations Silver’s arrival has caused? This may only become apparent days, maybe weeks, from now.”

“It won’t, trust me. I know I’m not from a different dimension because this is something that’s happened to me before,” he explains, allowing Tails to nudge him around, to maneuver him, as if he’s used to it, as if he’s used to his touch. The way he’d easily called him short, the way he’s at ease in his presence, Sonic can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s friendly with Tails in the future, too. Both he and Sonic come as a duo, so it’s to be expected. 

Maybe Silver’s proclamation of his and Sonic’s good relationship isn’t just an isolated incident. He very well may be a part of their group alongside Sticks, Amy, and Knuckles, too.

Oh, boy, he thinks suddenly. I’m gonna have to explain this to them too, aren’t I?

Silver continues, mindless to Sonic’s internal monologue: “I have the ability to time travel, although it’s…a work in progress.”

“What do you mean?”

Silver shrugs, suddenly shy, though not at Tails’ touch; it’s from his own admission at not being so good at something. “I’ll try to be careful with just how much I share, because I’m conscious it could mess with timelines, but do you both know what ‘Chaos Control’ is?”

Tails’ hold on Silver stills. He darts a look up at Sonic, who pretends not to notice his gaze and instead chooses to stare holes into the side of Silver’s skull so as to not break his carefully-constructed facade of absolute neutrality.

“We know,” he responds on his and Tails’ behalf, a little coldly, if anything.

A sigh of relief escapes Silver. “Great — at least that’s one big thing cleared up, eh?” He clears his throat with an ahem. “I have the ability to Chaos Control through time, but I’m not very good at it. I’ve only ever done it with the help of someone else, but today we thought I might be ready to try it alone. So I did. And here we are.” Silver gestures to himself using his free hand, his other still caught between Tails’, and offers a wobbly smile. “With no way to get home.”

“Can’t you just teleport back?” Tails asks, stating the obvious. He takes a step away from Silver, releasing him from his hold.

Silver shrugs, his mouth pulling to one side. “I mean…maybe? I don’t know.”

Sonic and Tails baulk. They share another wordless, loaded look before Sonic asks: “You mean, you haven’t tried…?”

Silver has the decency to look a little admonished. He scratches the back of his head, rucking the tangled quills up and glancing to the side as he mutters out his explanation. “I didn’t realise I had time travelled until I saw Sonic. I just saw his house, and assumed I’d just…Chaos Controlled to a different location, like normal, I suppose.” Silver shrugs again. “I haven’t had much time to process anything since arriving an hour ago.”

“Then, can you do it now?” Sonic suggests, tilting his head.

Silver glances down at the palms of his gloves, their still-damp texture reflecting the lighting above in a dull sheen. “I don’t know. I usually have a Chaos Emerald to give me a boost of power when I use it. I’ve never time travelled without one before.”

“If you’re able to Chaos Control, then you have Chaos Energy in your body. All the Emerald will do is amplify it. Like a kickstart,” Tails explains. “You might still have residual energy in your body after such a big jump earlier today.”

“Really?” Silver mutters, his fists clenching at Tails’ words. “I had no idea.”

“Is the ‘me’ in the future seriously that dull?” Tails remarks with a frown. “Maybe I hit my head and lost my smarts.”

“No, no — you’re the smartest guy I know,” Silver is quick to assure, “I just…ugh, my brain is all scrambled from the fall, and I guess I’m just not fully feeling myself.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Sonic assures, feeling the sudden urge to offer a kindred hedgehog some reassurance. He reaches out and ruffles the damp quills on the top of his head, rucking up the already tangled clump into something resembling a bird’s nest. Silver is warm beneath his touch, despite his skin-and-bones appearance and that impossible otherworldly quality he seems to possess. He’s a hedgehog, just like Sonic is, and yet there’s something peculiar about Silver. Nothing tangible or noticeable enough to really point it out or put it into words, only that Sonic knows, somehow feels, that Silver is somehow different.

“Right,” Sonic acknowledges after a moment, taking a step away from Silver to join Tails’ side. “Well, I guess all this leaves is for you to Chaos Control back home, right?”

“Right,” Silver responds, nodding at Sonic’s words as though he’s trying to force himself to agree with them. 

“...you good?” Sonic offers.

“Yeah!” Silver reassures, his faraway gaze snapping back to reality after a couple of hard blinks. “Yeah, sorry, just…I get nervous doing this alone. Ha ha.”

“Right,” Sonic entertains with an awkward smile. He shares another brief, loaded look with Tails, before Sonic resumes the lead and gestures towards the hedgehog in front of him. “Do you need space, or…?”

Silver’s quills sway as he glances around the space he’s in before he offers a head shake; a nonverbal no. “I should be good.”

“Okay.”

Silver adjusts his stance on the ground beneath him, the soles of his boots scuffing on the dust and fine grinds atop the concrete. He gives a quick glance down to his hands, draws in a deep breath to level himself, and looks up to both Sonic and Tails. 

“Thank you for your help,” he says, polite and sweet just like how he’s been since zapping into Sonic’s life all of an hour ago. He gives Tails a nod of acknowledgement, too. “It was nice meeting you. I guess I’ll see you both in the future?”

“Sure, whatever the hell that means,” Sonic responds with no bite, offering a wave. 

Silver steels himself with a deep, measuring breath before he speaks in a commanding tone, one Sonic’s not unfamiliar with. It’s like hearing a song in a different key, or seeing a colour through a shaded lens; unmistakably familiar, and yet different. He’s left no time to consider what any of those feelings mean before Silver announces in a crisp voice: “Chaos Control!”

With a flash of pale blue light, his body blips out of existence. Uncanny, just like it always is when that happens. 

In his absence it feels strangely cold. Sonic wonders if it has to do with the slight gust coming through the gap in the shutter that’s rustling the damp fur on his arms. Or, maybe it’s to do with the lack of warmth Silver seemed to exude, his sunny disposition lighting up the space as if the brightness behind his eyes came from a real source of fire beneath his skin.

Sonic rubs his arms to bring some heat into them and when silence follows Silver’s exit, he remarks: “Well.”

“Well, indeed,” Tails humours. He exhales out of his nose and shakes his head. “That was weird.”

“You’re telling me.” The hand on his arm comes up to push the quills from his face. “We should probably, like…”

“Talk about it?”

“Yeah. But not right now. I don’t think my brain can process anything new. I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

He pushes his thumbs into his eyes to dull the throb there, as if applying pressure would somehow alleviate his pain. There’s a shuffling sound next to him and when Sonic next opens his eyes Tails is holding up a packet of marshmallows and wooden skewers. Despite the exhaustion quickly consuming his entire body, as if it’s recognising he no longer needs to be in flight or fight mode, he finds it in himself to smile and accept the offering. If there’s one person who knows instinctively how to cheer him up, it’s Tails. 

“Thanks, bud.”

“I was planning to bring  ‘em to the barbeque earlier anyway,” Tails says, dragging over a space heater. He plugs it into a concealed socket on the floor and cranks it up to max. 

“Good idea.”

They impale their marshmallows on their skewers and take a seat on two stools opposite the space heater as the lame flame slowly melts the outside of their marshmallows.

It takes all of twenty minutes and two half-cooked marshmallows on the tips of their skewers for the both of them to get interrupted by a flash of blinding light and the zap of Chaos Energy whooshing through the air, so powerful it short-circuits the heater and kills it immediately. With clap of noise, the telltale sound of a sonic boom breaking the sound barrier, Silver stumbles back into existence a few feet away from their perch near the now-deceased space heater. 

Sonic and Tails meet Silvers’ surprised, sheepish gaze. He looks identical to the hedgehog who Chaos Controlled away with farewells and the intention to head home only moments ago.

“Uh,” Sonic says.

The marshmallows impaled on their skewers drip globules of hot sugar onto the cooling wire visor above the heating element, sizzling and burning when it makes contact. All Sonic and Tails can do is stare, lost for words, as Silver finds his footing and stumbles into one of Tails’ tool trays, sending wrenches and screwdrivers scattering across the concrete floor with a metallic clatter.

Eventually, like a newborn baby giraffe that’s just found the strength to stand on their own two feet, Silver pushes to stand on shaky legs takes in his surroundings. The grim reality settles in, and with a tight, defeated voice trying to find the positive side of what’s quickly proving to be a very difficult situation, he remarks: “Oh, crumbs. I guess this means I’m stuck here, huh?”

At the lack of response, he huffs out a nervous laugh. “Haha.”

Tails and Sonic do not reciprocate.

Sonic stuffs his half-melted marshmallow in his mouth. It tastes like residual Chaos Energy, a tang that sticks to the back of his tongue that won’t go away no matter how many times he swallows. The irony — a lingering, bad taste — isn’t lost on him, and would be funny if Sonic had the patience to entertain it.

Instead, Sonic sets down the sticky skewer, takes one look at the defeated look on Tails’ face — one that says he knows this is going to be more difficult than he’d originally thought — and says: “Well, fuck.”