#Penny is just a random name tho lol sorry Penny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sage-nebula · 2 years

Text

STH — Beyond Oblivion, ch.2

Notes: And here we are with chapter two, a mere two days before Frontiers comes out. This chapter is a lot longer than the first one, but that's because I needed to get some necessary world building in there. You know, flesh the reality Sonic has found himself in out a bit more.

If you read this, I hope you enjoy it! Oh, and here's a link back to Chapter One, if you missed it.

- - -

Most people wouldn't think jumping from an airship mid-flight was an easy, or even possible, feat. But fortunately for just about everyone, Sonic didn't fit neatly into the category of “most people.”

Leaving the Flying Battery was, for him, a piece of cake. There were no parachutes on-board (which made sense, Sonic thought, if Tails was supposed to be the only occupant), but the mountain range that Sonic had used to hitch a ride in the first place stretched underneath the Battery’s flight path for much longer than he’d thought. Even without a parachute, picking a high enough peak to jump safely onto even with Tails in his arms had been easy enough. And then—using the gift of high altitude to get a bearing on his surroundings—he’d set off for the place that was both the nearest and (he hoped) the safest: Windmill Village.

As he neared, though, he hesitated. Windmill Village was a peaceful, friendly place, but also one that had (in Sonic’s reality, at least) suffered directly at the hands of Eggman. Was this Windmill Village the same? And if so, had Tails been involved? The idea was inconceivable to Sonic, but then again, so was the idea of Tails working for Eggman and fighting Sonic tooth and nail when it came time to leave. Anything seemed possible here, no matter how hard to believe it was. Sonic had to play it safe.

Windmill Village was bordered by a forest, and through the forest ran a river that ended at the ocean. Sonic wasn’t remotely interested in going near the ocean, if it could be avoided, but the stream would come in handy for when Tails woke up; he was still pretty grimy, and the mats in his fur wouldn’t come loose easily. They’d need the water to help comb (or, worst case scenario, cut) them out.

With that in mind, Sonic wove his way through the trees until he found a small clearing that was near enough the stream for the sound of water flowing to be audible, but near enough the village so Sonic wouldn’t be too far away while on his supply run. It wasn’t ideal, leaving Tails alone in the forest—but it would have to do. Sonic carefully laid Tails on the grass in the middle of the clearing, mindful not to leave his head crooked at an odd angle. Once Tails was positioned in a way that Sonic had personally seen him sleep so many times before (arms and legs sprawled, with his tails draped over his stomach like a blanket), Sonic turned, and booked it to Windmill Village.

The first thing Sonic noticed about the village as he reached its border was the first thing everyone else did: the namesake windmills, peacefully rotating against the skyline as their blades were caressed by the wind. Despite his time crunch (he didn’t know when Tails would wake up, but knew he had to be there when he did), he allowed himself a moment to admire them, a small smile on his lips of its own volition. Windmills were nice, the way they let the wind carry them. And if they were in good repair, that meant that the rest of the village probably was, too. As he let his eyes skim the various buildings—the houses, the general store, the community center—he saw that his hunch was right. Windmill Village was, at least at the moment, no worse for the wear.

But any relief that he felt at that faded as he made his way into the village proper, and noticed the second thing about Windmill Village: the villagers themselves.

He recognized them—or at least, some of them. Some of them were villagers he’d encountered when he first visited to investigate rumors of Eggman’s possible return (and had instead found “Mr Tinker”). Others he recognized, but in a distorted way, and an uncomfortable swoop flipped through his stomach when he realized it was because he had seen them as zombots, rather than their normal selves. But what was strange was not how he recognized them, but how they stared at him. An older cat grabbed her small child’s hand, and tugged him close to her, staring at Sonic with unmasked apprehension. A group of kids around Charmy’s age huddled together in a small circle, whispering to each other behind their palms. When they saw him looking at them, they bolted, tripping over each other in their haste to get away. More than one person ducked inside the nearest building; others clustered together as the children had before, casting him wary glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Sonic paused just outside the general store and looked back the way he’d come, his quills on edge. Windmill Village was fine—no one seemed hurt. No buildings were destroyed. So what was the problem?

“Hello there, stranger! Is there something we can help you with?”

The familiar voice—deep but raspy, with a light wheeze—might have been enough to settle Sonic’s nerves, if the word stranger hadn’t been paired with it. Sonic turned, and voiced a grin at the mayor of Windmill Village, an old mountain goat who smiled just as easily back as he leaned on his walking stick. Two people trailed behind him; one a tall bird with feathers as dark as his scowl who looked a handful of years older than Sonic himself, and the other a petite, middle-aged mouse, a shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders.

Sonic laced his arms behind his head. “Nah, but thanks for checking in, Mayor. I was just in the area and thought I’d hit up the general store for some supplies. Y’know, food, maybe a couple sleeping rolls. Things like that.”

The mayor blinked, taken aback. On his left, the mouse tugged her shawl more tightly around her as she asked, “How’d you know he’s the mayor?”

“Ain’t it obvious? He’s one o’ them Empire scouts,” the bird spat, his voice dripping as much venom as his glare. Sonic’s quills went rigid, his fingers balled into fists. “Finally come to snuff us out, have you? Well we ain’t goin’ down easy, I’ll tell you that much.”

The mayor raised a hand to quell his neighbor’s fury. “Now, Oz—”

“I don’t know who you take me for, but I’d die before I’d work for any ‘empire,’” Sonic snapped. “I told you, I was just in the area and I need some supplies for me and my brother. That’s all.”

Oz snorted. “Sure. And you know he’s the mayor ‘cause—?”

Because I’ve met him before, Sonic wanted to say, but one look at the mayor’s face—one thought back to how the mayor had addressed him as stranger—told him otherwise. This Windmill Village’s mayor had no more of an idea who he was than this reality’s Tails had.

So instead of digging himself into a hole where he’d have to waste more time than he had explaining the situation, Sonic said, “Lucky guess. His clothes, that fancy walking stick, the fact he was the only around here who’d talk to me . . . I just took a guess and got it right.”

“Well, that settles that then, doesn’t it?” the mayor said, and glanced to each of his neighbors in turn to give them each a placating smile. Neither looked very mollified. “You’ll have to forgive our wariness, stranger. We don’t get many visitors ‘round these parts, and what with the Empire’s spread . . . well. Can’t blame folks for bein’ cautious.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

Sonic crossed his arms, and glanced over his shoulder at the general store. He needed to get supplies, and fast. There was no telling when Tails would wake up, and if he was alone when he did . . . well, odds are he wouldn’t still be there by the time Sonic got back. But as much as he needed supplies, there was something else he was missing that was almost as important, and something told him Tails wouldn’t be as forthcoming as he needed. Sonic tapped his foot as he weighed his odds, and then bit the bullet and took the chance.

“But hey, if it’s not any trouble, could you tell me about that?” he asked, and when the mayor raised his eyebrows in question, Sonic clarified, “This ‘empire,’ I mean. I’m guessing it’s Egg—Robotnik’s, right? How far’s it spread? What’s going on with that?”

The mayor and the two villagers exchanged bewildered looks. When they looked back at Sonic, their expressions were no less baffled.

“Are you . . . feelin’ okay?” the mouse asked.

“He’s not a scout, he’s a loon,” Oz said. Sonic fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Or a damn near idiot—”

“Look, I’m not from around here, okay?” Sonic interrupted. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but—”

“No, no,” the mayor said, and the hand he held up this time was to placate Sonic instead. “We can help. It’s only that—well, it’s hard to believe, someone not knowin’ about the Empire.”

Sonic cracked a wry smile. “I’ve encountered my fair share of hard to believe things today, Mayor. Seems to be a running theme.”

The mayor nodded, and then gestured for Sonic to follow him as he started toward the general store’s door. “Come with me, son. It’ll be easier for me to show than tell. Poppy, Oz—I can take it from here.”

“You sure?” Poppy asked, as Oz said, “You outta your mind? Anything could happen—”

“I said,” the mayor said, a hint of stone behind his smile as he turned back to them, “that I can handle it. Kindly go about your business, and advise your neighbors to do the same, if you’d please.”

Poppy nodded, and avoided meeting Sonic’s eyes as she turned and skirted away, head bowed. Oz looked less mollified; his shoulders were stiff, his eyes mutinous. But he didn’t say a word, instead casting Sonic one last scowl before he turned and stomped off, following Poppy.

The mayor sighed. “It wasn’t always like this. But after the past four years . . . well. Can’t blame ‘em, as I said.”

Four years. If this Tails was eight—and he looked it, for the most part, though he was a little smaller than the Tails back home—then that math would line up with when Eggman grabbed him. That meant, what, that Sonic’s initial worries were right? That Tails did do something, if not to the people of this village, then some other people somewhere else?

“Right this way,” the mayor said, and Sonic started as he was pulled from his thoughts. By this point the mayor had the door to the general store open—Sonic hadn’t even noticed the little bell above the door chime—and he shrugged his shoulder to indicate that Sonic should follow. Sonic nodded, grabbing the door himself so the mayor wouldn’t have to hold it open for him.

The general store was staffed by a single clerk behind the counter, whose customer service smile was belied by the alarm in her eyes. Sonic gave a little wave and what he hoped was a reassuring grin as he and the mayor headed toward the counter, the mayor pausing by a magazine rack to slip a folded world map from the top row. He spread the map open on the counter, and then held his hand out toward a pen cup sat near the register.

“Penny, if you would please—” the clerk palmed a pen from the cup, and placed it in the mayor’s outstretched hand, “—thank you kindly.”

Sonic leaned against the counter as the mayor, pen in hand, began to circle different locations on the map. The United Federation, Adabat, Spagonia, Apotos, Shamar . . . Sonic felt his stomach drop to his feet as the mayor continued, circling every single location where, as far as Sonic knew, humans resided.

“These ones are the worst of it, s’far as we know,” the mayor said, tapping the pen against the map once he was finished circling. “’Course it’s hard to say for sure what with not having been there personally, but we’ve heard through the grapevine that the humans all answer to the Empire now. Their cities plain aren’t safe for folks like us.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough to go near Central City,” Penny said, and a full-body shudder ran through her. “Would rather stick my foot in an open fire, an’ that’s the truth.”

“As for us . . .” The mayor quickly drew Xs through smaller islands that Sonic recognized as holding only very small, if any, populations: South Island, West Side Island, Christmas Island . . . just about every small island ended up crossed out, and Sonic didn’t need the mayor to explain what that meant. Once the islands were marked off, he started circling the cities: Sunset City, Metal City, White Park, Seaside City, Emerald Town . . . “Well, depends really. These bigger cities, they’re the ones most likely to have Empire scouts and sympathizers. More remote villages on the mainland like ours tend to be safe . . . for now. No tellin’ when that will change, but we do our best to keep our folks safe.”

“Scouts and sympathizers?” Sonic frowned, his foot tapping against the floor. “Since when does Egg—Robotnik employ people? And who the hell would want to work for him, anyway?” Besides the two-tailed fox unconscious in a nearby clearing, anyway, but Sonic wasn’t about to let the people of Windmill Village in on that.

“You’d be surprised,” the mayor said, folding up the map. “’Course, like I say, we haven’t had any out here so far. We’ve been lucky like that, bein’ so remote they don’t come out here. But we’ve heard tell of folks willing to make deals. Maybe they want in on the riches the humans have. Maybe they’re just tryin’ to save themselves. I don’t know, and I don’t care to know. I just don’t want them out here.”

“None of us do,” Penny said.

“Which is why Oz was so hostile toward you.” The mayor smiled, the expression somehow sad, as he held the map out to Sonic. “You’ll have to forgive him, it’s been a tough four years, and it don’t show no sign of slowing down. We’ve all got families we’re just trying to keep safe.”

“. . . Yeah,” Sonic said, as he took the folded map from the mayor. “I get it.”

The mayor clapped Sonic on the shoulder, and cleared his throat. “Well now, you said before you needed supplies, didn’t’cha? We don’t have much out here, but we’d be happy to load you up with what’cha need. And if you need a place to stay, I have a guest bedroom in my home you’re welcome to use.” He tilted his head. “You mentioned somethin’ ‘bout a brother? He’s welcome too, of course.”

“Oh, uh—thanks, but we’ve spent too long cooped up inside as it is,” Sonic said, and he flashed a grin as he tapped the map against the side of his head. “It’s how I missed out on all this. We’re just gonna be enjoying the great outdoors for a while. So on that note, if you’ve got any sleeping bags . . .”

The mayor smiled. “Come with me, and I’ll see what we can do.”

- - -

By the time Sonic left the village, the mayor had been able to do more than enough. Despite Sonic’s credit stick not working (a hazard of interdimensional travel, he guessed), the mayor had still seen fit to load him up with two sleeping rolls, two canteens, some smoked meats, some fruits, a few cans of chili, spoons, and a small cookpot. Sonic tried to talk him down—one sleeping roll for Tails would’ve been enough, he didn’t need the cookpot to heat the chili since his speed would let him swipe the cans from the fire without getting burned—but the mayor wouldn’t hear of it.

“These days, we’ve all gotta watch out for each other, don’t we?” he had said. “So you just take care, and if you and your brother need a safe place to settle down, give us a holler. It’d be no trouble to have a couple more friendly faces ‘round this village.”

He and Tails wouldn’t be settling down in Windmill Village any time soon, but Sonic did know this for sure: So long as he was in this reality, he wouldn’t let anything happen to the village or its residents.

When he returned to the clearing where he’d left Tails, he was relieved to find him still out like a light, his tails draped over his stomach while his chest rose and fell with each soft breath. After setting their supplies down, Sonic unfurled one of the sleeping rolls, and then gently moved Tails off the grass (one arm supporting Tails’ head, the other under his knees, just like if he’d fallen asleep while watching a movie) and onto the sleeping mat.

Tails didn’t stir, even to shift into a more comfortable position. Sonic felt a little needle of worry in his gut that he tried to ignore, opting to pull the blanket that had come with the sleeping roll over Tails instead. That accomplished, he turned away to setup their campsite, so everything would be ready when Tails woke up.

The problem, of course, was that he didn’t know when Tails would wake up. The relief he’d felt when he’d returned to the clearing and found Tails safe and sound was now being nibbled on by the idea that maybe, without meaning to, he’d hit Tails too hard. He didn’t think he had; Tails had been through way worse and had come out the other side just fine. Heck, he’d crashed an airship into Neo Metal Overlord and came out the other side with nothing but a minor concussion. He was fine! Yet as Sonic rolled out his own sleeping roll (for later; he felt too wired to even think of sleep now), and then started building the pit they’d use for their fire, he couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at Tails. He really did look smaller than Sonic’s Tails. Not shorter, necessarily (though maybe a little bit), but definitely thinner. Sonic’s Tails had never been heavy, but although he’d used both arms to carry this Tails, he was light enough that Sonic thought he could have just used one. He could feel Tails’ ribs pretty easily through his fur when he held him. And his fur was in such bad shape, too; not shiny at all, caked in motor oil and dirt and grease, mats all over the place—

The sticks Sonic had been rubbing together to spark a fire snapped, and huffed a short sigh before he tossed them aside. There was no shortage of kindling in the forest, that wasn’t a problem. It was just annoying. He was annoyed, not worried. Annoyed.

He glanced up at Tails again, his jaw set so hard it was a little painful at the sight of Tails so still on the sleeping mat. Then he tore his eyes away, grabbed a pair of fresh sticks, and set to work making the fire again.

By the time Tails finally stirred, four hours had passed and the sun had already set. Sonic had a small campfire going, and had heated up some chili for himself in hopes that the smell of food would bring Tails back to the world of the living. It hadn’t, and Sonic had assured himself that it was fine, that Tails just needed his rest—but even he couldn’t deny the flood of relief that cascaded through him when Tails rolled over on his side, a sleepy groan escaping his throat. Sonic snagged one of the canteens before he jumped over the campfire and to Tails’ side.

“Hey bud,” Sonic said, smiling a little as he slipped a hand under Tails’ back to help him sit up. “You good?”

Tails didn’t answer. He licked his lips as he looked blearily around the campsite, blinking unfocused eyes. Not wanting to push Tails too hard (and figuring that he might be thirsty after his impromptu “nap”), Sonic thumbed the lid off the canteen and held it out. Tails stared at it for a second, uncomprehending, but when Sonic nudged the mouth of the canteen against Tails’ snout, Tails got the message and took the canteen in unsteady hands. At first, he took a couple small sips. But the water seemed to flick a switch in his brain; without any prompting Tails tossed his head back and guzzled the water down with enough fervor that Sonic wondered if he was dehydrated on top of being half-starved. Only when the canteen was almost empty did Tails finally stop, pushing it against Sonic’s chest to make him take it again . . . before he flopped back down on his sleeping mat.

A bemused smile quirked Sonic’s lips. “Uh, Tails? Don’t you think you should eat someth—” Tails grabbed the blanket and yanked it up over his head. “. . . Ooookay. Never mind.”

Tails needed to eat something, if what he’d said earlier about not having eaten since the day before was true, but Sonic had firsthand experience with how cranky Tails could be without enough sleep, and so he knew enough to leave him be. After taking a quick trip to the stream to refill the canteen that Tails had nearly emptied (and the stream looked clean enough, thankfully; whatever pollution Eggman had put into the world hadn’t affected this particular water source), Sonic settled down onto his own sleeping roll for the night. Now that he knew Tails hadn’t suffered any serious head trauma, the fatigue of the day hit him like a brick wall. As he laid back and closed his eyes, he kept one ear perked just in case Tails woke up again. He had always been a light sleeper, a “gift” granted to him by virtue of never knowing when Eggman would strike again. Usually it was annoying, the smallest sound waking him even when there was no danger. But now, he was grateful for it; it would come in handy if Tails woke again before Sonic himself did.

Which he did, a little after sunrise.

Sonic startled awake to the sound of hacking coughs following a gasp, and was on his feet before he registered what was happening. He looked over in time to see Tails, nearing the end of his coughing fit, scramble to his feet . . . and then trip over his blanket, landing smack on his face in the grass.

“Whoa, bud! Take it easy.” Sonic hopped over their (now extinguished) campfire, and held out a hand to help Tails up. Tails finally kicked free of his blanket, and when he looked up at Sonic, it wasn’t with a grateful or friendly smile. Instead, he scrambled backwards, ignoring Sonic’s proffered hand in favor of looking frantically around him.

“Where am I? What did you do to me?” He scooted back another pace, and used a tree to help himself to his feet as Sonic’s smile faded to a frown. “I’m—what—what time is it? How long has it been? How—how did I—what did you do?!”

“One question at a time,” Sonic said, and he held up his fingers to tick each of them off. “You’re in our campsite a little ways outside Windmill Village. I knocked you out—sorry, by the way, but you left me no choice—and got you safely off the ship. It’s . . .” Sonic looked up at the sun, and then confirmed the time on his wrist communicator. “. . . a little after 6 in the morning, so it’s been about fourteen hours. And I think I already answered what I did, so . . .” Sonic shrugged. “There you have it.”

Tails didn’t look mollified. Instead, with each new piece of information his eyes grew wider, and by the end of it he was leaning heavily on the tree for support, his breathing shallow as he stared at the ground.

“Fourteen hours. I’ve been—I’ve been gone for fourteen hours. And—and I—everything was . . .” He placed a hand against his head, eyes scrunched together. “Everything was broken, wasn’t it? Because you broke it. Everything was broken and the ship was destroyed and I didn’t fix it and I’ve been gone for fourteen hours.” Tails looked back up at Sonic. “Did you crash it? The Flying Battery. Did you crash it, or did it make it to port?”

“I didn’t crash it, no. I was going to, but I kinda forgot when I learned you were on the ship and needed rescue.”

“I didn’t—!” Tails yanked on his bangs with one hand, and shoved the other into his mouth, biting down so hard he yelped around his fingers.

“Tails! Stop!” Before the words even left his mouth Sonic bounded forward, his own fingers snapping around Tails’ wrist so he could pull his hand free of his teeth. This was as bad of an idea as it was good. Free of his jaws though Tails’ hand now was, the rough removal arguably worsened the bite; Sonic could see little beads of blood through the renewed puncture in Tails’ glove.

Tails wasn’t thankful for the assist, in any case. He threw his body weight against the tree, head cracking against the bark, and as Sonic pulled him clear of any other trees he could use to hurt himself, he dropped to his knees and twisted his wrist in an attempt to break free of Sonic’s grasp. As another wail threatened to break loose from Tails’ throat, he made to shove his other hand into his mouth, and this time, Sonic reacted quickly enough to grab that wrist, too.

“Will you stop trying to hurt yourself?” Sonic snapped, harsher than he meant to. Tails shook his head, eyes screwed shut, mouth clamped tight against the building whine in his throat as he pulled back against Sonic’s hold. “Tails—!”

“This is nothing,” Tails rasped, voice thick with what Sonic now saw were tears spilling fast from his left eye. “He’s—he’s—I’m—the—the Flying Battery was—was destroyed and I’m gone and he’s going to think I did it—!”

Sonic felt his stomach drop, and Tails trembling violently in his grasp.

“—and that I’m a terrorist and a traitor and I—he’s—he’s gonna kill me—!”

“No!” Sonic hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but it did the trick; Tails drew up short, hiccupping over his tears, and Sonic released Tails’ wrists to hold his shoulders instead. He stared straight into Tails’ eyes: one wet and shining, the other dry and glassy. “I will never let that happen, you hear me? Never.”

Tails stared back at him, eyes wide, for a long moment. Then his expression settled into a baleful glare, and his ears flattened back against his head as his hackles raised in a snarl.

“All you’ve done is break things and kidnap me and ruin my life,” he spat. “You can’t do anything.”

Hearing Tails, of all people, say that stung more than Sonic would admit, but he shoved the feeling down and forced a lopsided grin. “Well as it turns out, breaking Eggman’s things is something of a specialty of mine. So believe me when I say there’s nothing in this or any other world he could throw at me that has any chance of getting through to you. He won’t ever hurt you again so long as I’m around, and that’s a promise.”

Tails said nothing. He continued to glare at Sonic, and his tails batted against the grass in low, taut, anxious swishes. But his breathing was more even now, the flood of tears reduced to a trickle. Those, at least, were good signs.

“Okay,” Sonic said, releasing a slow breath in an exhale. “I think the first order of business is to whip up some breakfast. I got some things yesterday while you were, uh, sleeping, but to make ‘em I need to have use of my hands. And before I can do that, I need to know that you’re not gonna try to hurt yourself again, deal?” Tails turned his scowl to the grass under their feet, so Sonic ducked down a little to meet Tails’ eyes despite his resistance. “Deal?”

“Fine,” Tails snapped, and he pulled back as Sonic tentatively released his grip on Tails’ shoulders. “Whatever.”

“Okay,” Sonic said, watching closely as Tails sank to the ground and pulled his tails tightly around himself. He was twisting them too hard to be comfortable, but he wasn’t drawing blood or causing himself to yelp in pain, so leaving him be was probably a fair compromise. For now, anyway. “Thank you.”

Tails shot him a look, but otherwise didn’t respond. He sniffed, and scrubbed the tears under his left eye. He looked thoroughly miserable, and while an uncomfortable part of Sonic suggested that might partially be his fault, he also knew that there were few miseries food couldn’t help, if not outright fix.

“All right.” Sonic clapped his hands together, and smiled apologetically as Tails jumped at the sound. “I’ve got a few things we could have for breakfast. We have fruit, some smoked meats, and a few cans of chili that a couple minutes above a fire will heat up to perfection.” As he spoke, Sonic tossed more kindling into their campfire pit; whether or not Tails wanted chili for breakfast, Sonic knew that he did. “Since you’re the guest of honor, you get first pick. What sounds good?” Tails looked at him askance, yet then looked away again, and Sonic sighed. “Tails . . .”

“Stop—!” Tails’ ears were flat against his head again, and he yanked his tails so tightly around himself it almost looked like it would be hard for him to breathe. But the sharp exhale through his nose suggested otherwise, and he gritted his teeth as he said, “Nothing. No thanks.”

Sonic shook his head, and gathered a water canteen, some fruit, and some of the dried meats in his arms. “Hate to break it to ya, but ‘no thanks’ isn’t an acceptable answer here. If what you told me yesterday was true, you haven’t eaten in over a day, and that’s not healthy.” He skipped over the firepit and laid the provisions out in front of Tails, who looked at them, but made no move to take them. “So come on, at least try with some of this. And if there’s something else you want instead, just tell me and I’ll go get it. Could be anything, from anywhere. I’ll be back before you have time to wonder where I’ve gone.”

Once again Tails eyed the selection of fruits and meats, and for the tiniest of seconds it looked like he was going to go for them. But then he shook his head, and—knees drawn up to his chest—hid his face in his arms, mumbling something muffled by his fur.

Sonic poked Tails’ knee. “Mind sharing that with someone other than your tails?”

Tails growled a little, but after a second lifted his face just enough to say, “I said, I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Are you allergic to any of this stuff?” Sonic asked, bemused. He looked back at the assortment of food, but no, he couldn’t remember Tails having any food allergies. Well, he did have a strong intolerance to a kind of sugar substitute used in some sugar-free foods, but since trying to keep Tails away from sugar was like trying to keep Sonic himself away from chili dogs, that wasn’t an issue that cropped up too often.

Tails shook his head, as best he could without raising it. “I didn’t finish my work yesterday.”

“Okay . . .” Sonic raised his eyebrows, beseeching Tails to continue. “And?”

Tails threw Sonic an annoyed look without lifting his head. “So I can’t eat.”

“I’m not following.”

Tails heaved a sigh, and said with the tone of explaining something to a small child, “A meal at the end of the day is a reward for work well done. I didn’t finish my work. So I don’t—I can’t—I didn’t earn it.”

Sonic stared at Tails, unable, for a moment, to put together a response to the utter nonsense he just heard. Tails, for his part, seemed to find nothing wrong with it; he shoved his face into the crook of his arms again, tails still bound tightly around him. Sonic opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Then opened it, then closed it. He took a deep breath, and then, choosing his words as carefully as he could:

“No offense, because I know you’re a literal genius, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Tails lifted his head again to glare at Sonic.

“Look,” Sonic tried again, and he swiped an apple off the grass and held it out. “What you did or didn’t do—none of that matters here, all right? You have to eat something. Work or no work, I don’t care about that. You just need to eat.” Tails made no move to take the apple, and Sonic lowered it back to the grass. “Bud, come on. Don’t make me force you . . .”

Not that he had any idea of how to go about doing that. In all his years looking after Tails, getting him to eat had never been a problem. Oh, sure, there were some foods that he didn’t like. Cauliflower, for instance, as well as citrus fruits. But aside from that, Tails had always shoveled down food like it was going out of style. Between the pair of them, they could clear a dinner table in minutes. Even if it wasn’t the healthiest food—and Sonic would be the first to admit that he didn’t always make the healthiest choices when it came to mealtime—Tails had still eaten something, no problem. Refusing food altogether . . . that was new, and not something Sonic knew how to work with.

But Tails wasn’t budging. He chewed on the tip of his tail, an act that looked more hungry than harmful, but made no inclination toward any of the food that Sonic had offered. Whatever messed up ideas he had surrounding whether he was allowed to eat or not held him firm no matter what Sonic said. Shoving the food down his throat would do no good; at worst he’d choke on it, and at slightly less than worst it’d make Tails hate him even more than he already did. But Sonic couldn’t just leave him like this, either; he had a feeling the reason why Tails had chosen to sit on the grass rather than try to flee was because he didn’t have enough energy to move.

Sonic took a deep breath, and released it in a fast exhale.

“Okay,” he said, and Tails watched him warily as he stood up. “Tell you what. I’ve gotta go grab something. I’ll be right back. Wait here.”

Before Tails had a chance to respond, Sonic booked it back to Windmill Village.

For the most part, Sonic wasn’t a fan of stealing. At least, not when it came to stealing from innocent people. But time was of the essence here; he couldn’t risk getting into another lengthy discussion when Tails was awake and starving back at their campsite. So with a mental promise to the villagers that he’d return what he took later, Sonic breezed through the community center to grab the toolbox he knew was stashed in the storage closet. Toolbox in hand he made his way back into the woods, a decent distance away from the campsite where Tails was waiting for him, and slipped his communicator off his wrist.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, to the Tails waiting for him back home. “But Other You really needs this.”

Sonic brought his hand up, and smashed his communicator hard against the bark of a nearby tree.

When he returned to the clearing less than two minutes after he’d left it, Tails had shifted so that he was laying down again, curled in a little ball on his sleeping mat. He was still awake—his eyes were half-lidded instead of all the way closed—but he looked more than a little out of it. Sonic hated what he was about to do—the kid needed food, not chores—but given that this was the only way to accomplish that . . .

“Hey.” Sonic nudged Tails’ foot with his own, and smiled back in the face of Tails’ scowl. “Since you don’t wanna eat, I was wondering if you could fix something for me.”

“. . . What?”

Sonic sat down beside Tails’ sleeping mat, and set the toolbox beside him. He then held out his broken communicator. Tails sat up, peering at the communicator with wary interest. “I broke this on the ship yesterday. Since you’re a tech whiz, I was wondering if you’d fix it for me. I got some tools you can work with from the nearby village.”

Tails studied the communicator for a second before he looked up at Sonic with suspicious eyes. “It’s smashed. Weren’t you just wearing it?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I have any pockets handy, and it makes my quills feel weird when I store it there,” Sonic said smoothly. When Tails continued to scrutinize him, he shrugged. “Hey, if you can’t fix it . . .”

“I never said that.” Tails swiped the broken communicator from Sonic’s hand, and Sonic fought to bite back his smile as Tails pushed the lid of the toolbox open. “Gimme a few minutes.”

“You got it.”

Tails set to work on the communicator, and if it weren’t for things like his damaged ear or eye, Sonic could have almost believed he was watching his Tails tinker with something back home. Tails deftly separated each part of the communicator with a screwdriver, laying them all out separately on the grass so he could get a clear look at each piece. He rooted through the toolbox to find different things he needed; replacement screws, for instance, which he also scattered on the grass nearby. A few times, he mentioned not having something he needed—a new faceplate, replacement gears. Each time, Sonic left to retrieve what was needed as quickly as he could, once again making a mental note to replace the wristwatches and other items he “borrowed” along with the toolbox later.

“How do you do that?” Tails asked, fixing the wires of Sonic’s communicator in place.

“Do what?”

“Leave and get back here so fast. I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”

“Super speed. It’s kind of my thing.” Sonic grinned when Tails chanced a glance up at him. “You’ll get used to it.”

Tails hummed, though whether it was an agreement or not Sonic couldn’t be sure. He lapsed into silence after that, focusing on his work.

All told, with Sonic leaving periodically to get whatever supplies Tails needed, the repair took about forty-five minutes. When it was completed, Tails frowned at the faceplate, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You still don’t have a network connection,” he said. “I could connect you to the RoboNet, but—”

“No thanks,” Sonic said, and deftly palmed his communicator out of Tails’ hands before he snapped it back around his wrist. “I’ll make do without it.”

Tails nodded as he shut the lid of the toolbox, evidently not feeling up to arguing about it.

“Anyway.” Sonic clapped his hands together again, and grinned as Tails met his eyes. “Now that that’s out of the way, whaddya want for breakfast?”

Tails scowled. “I told you. I can’t—”

“You just fixed my communicator, good as new,” Sonic said, and he tapped it to prove his point. “That’s work well done, wouldn’t you say?”

Tails stared at him for just a moment, his eyes wide. “You . . . you tricked me!”

“What, me? Trick a super genius like you? Noooo, never.” Though Sonic had to say, of all the tricks he’d played over the years, tricking a kid into eating instead of starving himself had to be the kindest trick he’d ever played. “Tell you what. You get started on some fruit, and I’ll heat up some chili for us. We’ve also got two canteens full of water if you’re thirsty.”

As he spoke, Sonic moved back to the firepit, and set to work sparking a fire to heat some chili. He pretended to be wholly focused on his work, but he kept an eye on Tails in his peripheral vision—and after a few seconds, during which Tails looked like he thought the fruit might shock him if he touched it, he saw Tails cautiously pick up the apple Sonic had offered before and start nibbling on it. Sonic grinned. Good.

It didn’t take long for the chili to warm up, and when it was done, Sonic removed the cookpot from the fire and brought the whole thing over to where Tails sat, setting it between them. Tails hadn’t finished his apple, but his ears perked up as he sniffed the chili, his tails swishing behind him in curiosity.

“Here you go,” Sonic said, and he held out a spoon. “I put three cans in here, so I figured we could share. You can have as much as you want.”

“What is it?” Tails asked, and he poked the chili with his spoon.

Sonic laughed. “It’s chili. You’ve never had it before?” When Tails shook his head, Sonic nudged the chili pot closer to him. “Go on, have a taste. It’s good, I promise.”

Hesitantly, as though he still wasn’t sure about it, Tails scooped up a spoonful of chili. Then, before he could change his mind (or think to blow on it so it was cool enough) he jammed it in his mouth. His eyes widened, a shudder running through him that made his fur look a little puffed out.

“You okay?” Sonic asked. “If it’s too hot, we’ve got the water—”

Tails shook his head, and slowly pulled his spoon from his mouth. “No. It’s just—I’ve never had anything so . . .” He tapped his spoon against the rim of the cookpot, then shook his head. “It has so much flavor.”

Sonic didn’t know what to make of that, besides that the food in Eggman’s empire sounded as bad as he had always assumed it would be. “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from. Eat up; you can have as much as you want.”

Tails didn’t need much more encouragement. He scooped up another spoonful of chili, and when he stuck his spoon in his mouth, his tails swished in happiness behind him. Sonic felt warmth in his own chest that had nothing to do with their breakfast, and joined Tails in eating in companionable silence.

Well, silence for a time, at least. There was still so much Sonic didn’t know—so much he felt he needed to know, to get a better grasp on the situation he was in. And while he didn’t want to give Tails the third degree, Tails was likely his best source of information. So after they’d eaten in silence for a few minutes, and Tails looked moderately more relaxed, Sonic decided to start with what he hoped would be an easy question. “So, Tails—”

Immediately, Tails went rigid. His ears went back, and he squeezed his spoon so tightly it almost looked like it would bend. “Stop calling me that. I told you, my name is Miles.”

Sonic held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. It’s a habit.”

“A habit? You only met me yesterday,” Tails said. Sonic wanted to say that wasn’t exactly true, but before he could, Tails spoke over him. “Whatever, I know what you’re doing. You’re just like the others. But you can cut it out, okay? I already know I’m a freak. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Whoa, what?” Sonic felt like he’d run straight into a tree. “That’s not what I—you’re not a freak.”

Tails scoffed, and stabbed moodily at the chili with his spoon. “Yeah, sure. Because everyone knows foxes have two tails.”

“Most foxes don’t, you’re right,” Sonic said. “But that doesn’t make you a freak. That makes you cool.”

Tails rolled his eyes—or his left eye, anyway, his right one remaining mostly still.

“I mean it,” Sonic pressed, pushing down the discomfort he felt at the sight. “I can’t believe you’d ever think otherwise. I mean, come on—you can fly! Without a plane or anything. Your extra tail lets you fly. How cool is that?”

Tails shrugged, and twirled his spoon through the chili. “It’s all right.”

“‘All right?’ Dude. It’s better than ‘all right.’ It’s amazing.” Tails finally looked back up at him, and Sonic held his gaze. “I mean it. The fact that you can fly is awesome. You can do something most people can only dream of, if they don’t have extra tools to make it happen. That’s not a bad thing, or something to be ashamed of—it’s a gift.”

Tails stared, wide eyed. The tension dropped from his shoulders, along with the defensive curl of his lips. Despite being actively engaged in conversation, the look on his face suggested he had never seen Sonic before that very moment, like he didn’t know what to make of him.

Sonic cleared his throat. “But that said, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. So if you really don’t want to be called that, I’ll try—”

“No.” Tails blinked, and then looked back down at the chili, moving his spoon through it again. “It’s—if you’re really not trying to be mean, then—it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Tails shrugged, and popped another spoonful of chili in his mouth. His next words were a little muffled, spoken around the spoon. “It’s fine.”

Sonic grinned. “All righty. But if you change your mind, lemme know. It’s no big deal to me either way.”

Tails frowned, as if something was strange about that statement, but evidently chose to ignore it as he popped his spoon back out of his mouth. “What were you going to say before?”

“What? Oh, right.” Sonic downed another spoonful of chili himself, and then said, “It’s about the badniks back on the Flying Battery. When I was busting them up—” Tails scowled, and Sonic quickly moved on, “—I noticed that there weren’t any little animals hopping out of ‘em. No flickies or rickies or—anything.”

Tails raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And so I was wondering—what’s that about? The Eggman I know always powers his badniks with little animals. It’s weird that these ones weren’t.”

Tails made a face. “I don’t know anything about this ‘Eggman’ of yours, but Dr Robotnik’s badniks aren’t powered by living batteries. We haven’t used those for years now. They’re inefficient.”

Something told Sonic that he didn’t want the answer to this, but as often happened when there was danger right in front of him, he plowed ahead before he could stop himself. “Inefficient?”

“Well, yeah.” Tails waved his spoon through the air. “Living batteries only work as long as the body holds out. With small animals, that’s a really short amount of time; they’re too small and weak to handle being drained like that for very long. And even with bigger animals like us—we’re too big to fit in standard-issue badniks, and bigger machines run into the same problem that badniks do with little animals. They just drain too quickly to be useful.”

Sonic scowled, something twisting in his gut. “‘Bigger animals like—’?”

“Plus once the energy runs out, you have to open the casing and remove the body, and . . .” Tails’ ears lowered, and he wrapped his tails around himself. He suddenly looked a little sick. “It’s—it’s just not worth it. It’s inefficient, and—and there’s a better way.”

“Oh?” Much as Sonic wanted to press into what exactly Tails meant by ‘bigger animals,’ he also didn’t want to put Tails off his breakfast too badly. “And what is that better way? I didn’t get a good look yesterday.”

The subject change, however slight, did the trick. Tails perked up and smiled. “Chaos energy.”

Well. Tails might have gotten his appetite back, but Sonic felt his disappear completely. His quills stood at attention as he set his spoon down in the chili pot. Bigger animals, chaos energy . . . the fact that Sonic himself didn’t seem to exist in this world . . .

“And where exactly do you get that from?” Sonic demanded, voice hard.

If Tails picked up on Sonic’s agitation, he didn’t show it. His tails swished happily behind his head. “The Master Emerald, mostly. But we have the seven smaller ones, too.”

Sonic heard the sound his shoes made when he skidded to a stop in his head. “Say what?”

“The Master Emerald,” Tails repeated, and he spread his arms wide. “It’s this big emerald—”

“No, no, I know what the Master Emerald is.” Sonic waved off Tails’ explanation, and Tails frowned in annoyance as he took another bite of chili. “I mean, how does Eggman have it? Where’s Knuckles?”

“Who’s Knuckles?”

Sonic held a hand above his head. “Tall guy. Red quills. Likes to punch things—”

“Ohhh, you mean the former guardian.” Tails looked back down at the chili, his eyes unfocused, as if he wasn’t really seeing it. The hand that wasn’t holding his spoon toyed with his left ear—the ear that had a large, crescent-shaped chunk cut out of its outer edge. “Yeah, I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since we got the Emerald, and that was . . . well, it was a couple months after the Doctor took me in, so I guess it’s been four years now. Almost five.”

Sonic’s heartbeat was always fast, but now it felt like it did after he’d finished sprinting a few marathons in a row. “Tails,” he said, and he kept his voice as steady as he could manage, “what happened to Knuckles?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Tails said. His finger traced the crescent outline in his ear. “I haven’t seen him since—”

“Then just start from the top. How’d you guys find Angel Island, what happened—”

“Why does it matter?” Tails tilted his head. “Was he a friend of yours?”

Was. Sonic hated that word used in this context. He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Something like that. Will you tell me? I’m just curious.”

Tails’ expression was dubious, but he sighed and set his own spoon down in the now-lukewarm chili pot all the same, still toying with his injured ear.

“Like I told you, using living batteries in the badniks and other machines is inefficient. The Doctor was still using them when he took me in, and it . . . I didn’t like having to . . .” Tails swallowed hard, and pulled one of his tails around his stomach. “I just figured there had to be another way, a different energy resource we could use. And it was still so soon after the Doctor took me in, and I hadn’t contributed much . . . so I figured, if I found another energy resource, that would be two apples with one stone. We would have a better energy source for the badniks and machines, and the Doctor would see I was useful and wouldn’t regret taking me in.”

Sonic worked his jaw, but said nothing so Tails would continue.

“It took a little while, but after tinkering with the Doctor’s scanners, I found this huge output of energy from what looked like some random point out in the ocean. But when we went there, it wasn’t in the ocean at all, but above it, on a floating island.”

“Angel Island.”

“Yeah. We sent some badniks to do recon, but not all of them came back. The ones who did showed footage of someone there . . . someone who was guarding the Emerald.”

“Knuckles.”

“I guess. Anyway, the Doctor sent me ahead so I could talk to the guardian, see what was going on. He was kinda scary at first . . . but he didn’t attack me right away. He talked to me, and I got him to show me around the island. And while I did that—”

“—Eggman took the Master Emerald.”

Tails nodded, and ran his tongue along his teeth. Once more his eyes looked distant, faraway; if Sonic had to guess, he wasn’t really at their campsite just then, but instead on Angel Island four years ago. “When the Doctor took the Master Emerald, the island started to fall. We didn’t—I didn’t know that would happen. But the guardian freaked out. He tried to go back to the shrine, but the Doctor had told me to keep him away from there. So I got in his way to stop him, and when I did that I guess he figured out what was going on . . .”

Eggman stealing the Master Emerald was no joke. Anyone stealing the Master Emerald was no joke, but Eggman especially. Sonic knew that, would agree with Knuckles on that any day of the week. But four years ago, Tails was four years old. Knuckles would’ve been twelve, maybe thirteen depending on when in the year this took place. Sonic couldn’t imagine a situation—any situation—when Knuckles would intentionally throw hands with a little kid, even a situation as dire as “the little kid has helped a mad scientist steal the giant emerald that keeps Angel Island in the air.” But from the sounds of things . . . from the look of Tails’ ear . . .

“Did you fight him?” Sonic asked, even though he knew it wouldn’t be much of a fight.

Tails shrugged, not looking up, still toying with his ear. Sonic wished he would stop. “Not really? He knocked me out of the way. I tried to stop him again a few times after that, and one of the times one of the spike things on his glove caught my ear . . . but the island was in free-fall, it was hard to keep our balance. And when I saw that the Doctor had the Master Emerald, I figured it was time to go anyway, so . . . I ran, and jumped off the island.” Tails shrugged again. “I thought maybe the guardian would follow me, but . . . I don’t know if he did. I don’t remember much of that part. I just remember jumping off the island, hitting the water . . . and then I woke up in the Egg Carrier. I never saw the guardian again after that.”

For a long moment, silence enshrined their campsite, broken only by the sounds of flickies chirping elsewhere in the woods. While it was something of a relief to know that this Knuckles hadn’t been so far gone that he would willingly engage a four-year-old in a fistfight, that did little to soothe Sonic’s nerves. Knuckles was gone. Maybe not dead—Tails didn’t know what happened to him after Angel Island fell. But if he wasn’t dead, how did Eggman still have the Master Emerald? No way he would have let that stand. And if he wasn’t dead, and Eggman still had the Master Emerald, then . . . what? Was he imprisoned somewhere? Surely Tails would know about that if he was, wouldn’t he? So then that meant—

Well. So far Sonic hadn’t thought much about future plans aside from “get Tails off the Flying Battery” and “get him to eat something since he hadn’t eaten in over a day and was clearly weak from hunger.” But now that Knuckles’ probable demise was brought up, he had to admit that “find Tails a suitable guardian” would have been next on his list. And unfortunately, it seemed that his first choice of suitable guardian was no longer an option. This reality just kept getting better and better.

Sonic channeled his tension through squeezing his hand into a fist, releasing it, and squeezing it again. Squeeze, release, squeeze. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something, and it would have to do until he got the chance to sink his fist into Eggman’s face.

When he felt marginally calmer, he looked back up at Tails. Tails was no longer toying with his mutilated ear (thank chaos), but he wasn’t eating, either. Instead, he was looking around his sleeping roll, checking around the trees and, after a minute, under the mat itself.

“What are you doing?” Sonic asked, bemused.

“Looking for my tablet,” Tails said, without looking over. He picked up his blanket and shook it out. “I thought I’d show you the schematics for the generator I made that lets us harvest the Chaos energy from the emeralds while simultaneously recharging them so they don’t get depleted, but I can’t do that without my tablet.” He let his blanket fall back onto his sleeping roll, and looked back at Sonic. “I always have my tablet on me. Didn’t I have it on me? I know I had it on the Flying Battery. I know I did.”

“Uh . . . sorry, but no,” Sonic said, and Tails’ shoulders slumped, his expression crestfallen. “I didn’t see anything like that yesterday.”

“But I had it. I know I had it. I had it synced to the Battery’s network so I could play my—” Tails froze, and then dropped to his knees on his sleeping roll. “I had it behind the engine. I left it behind the engine. When you came in and distracted me, I . . .”

Oh. “Sorry, bud,” Sonic said, and he meant it. Back in his reality, Tails rarely left home without the Miles Electric in hand. He could only imagine the same was true for this one. “But tell you what, if we’re ever in the proximity of the ship again, I’ll go back in and get it for you. Promise.”

Tails shook his head, and pulled his tails around to his lap, fingers digging into them. “No,” he said, tone bitter. “The Doctor’ll have found it when he went through the ship to see what happened. He’ll go through to harvest all the data I had on the projects I was in charge of. There’s no hope of saving them now. They’ll be gone for sure.”

“They?” Sonic asked, before it clicked. “Oh, you mean your projects.” Tails didn’t respond; he only dug his fingers harder into his tails, a wince crossing his face as he did so. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. You can make a new tablet. And you don’t have to worry about those projects, either; you’re free now, so—”

“I wasn’t trapped in the first place!” Tails snapped, and once again tears were welling up in his left eye. God, Sonic just couldn’t stop making this kid cry, could he? “That was my home, my only f-family—and you ruined it—”

“That is not a home, and Egg—Robotnik is definitely not family,” Sonic said firmly. “Family doesn’t treat each other like how he treats you.”

Tails glowered at him. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

“I know because I pretty much raised my little brother, and he turned out great. Better than great, even. He’s the best kid there ever was,” Sonic said flatly. “And I would never think to treat him the way Robotnik treats you. Not even for a second.”

Tails looked away, a low scoff in his throat. “Well, that’s great for you. But your experiences aren’t universal.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Sonic huffed a sigh, and seeing as Tails wasn’t going to speak up again (and that he just kept twisting his tails between his fingers, grimacing on each turn), he said, “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. If you’re done with breakfast, then we should probably get you cleaned up.”

Tails blinked, and then looked up at Sonic with a furrowed brow. “Why?”

“Beeecause you’re dirty?” Sonic said, and flung a hand in Tails’ direction. “No offense, bud, but you’re covered in oil and grease. Your fur’s pretty matted, too. We should get that taken care of.”

“Why?” Tails asked again, and before Sonic could respond, added, “It’s not like it matters. I won’t be seeing the Doctor any time soon, unless I can figure out a way to convince him I’m not the one who trashed the Battery and come up with something good enough to make him think taking me back is worth it, so—”

“It matters because mats hurt,” Sonic said, speaking over Tails. “And because if you’re dirty for too long, you can get sick. So come on. There’s a stream nearby you can use to get cleaned up.”

Tails’ sullen expression didn’t fade, but he didn’t put up a fight, either. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet (noticeably steadier now that he had some food in his system), and followed Sonic through the trees to the stream. The water looked as clean now as it had earlier, and Sonic gestured to it.

“There you go, bud. Go ahead and get washed up; I’m gonna go grab something to help us with the mats.”

“How do you know how to do that?” Tails asked, and Sonic raised an eyebrow. “Deal with mats, I mean. Your fur doesn’t look long enough to get them.”

“Nope,” Sonic agreed. “But my little bro’s is, and he’s had to deal with his share before when we were younger. I learned how to help him get them out.”

Tails furrowed his brow. “Your brother’s not a hedgehog?”

“Nope.”

“How—”

“Hey.” Sonic put his hand on Tails’ shoulder, and gave him a gentle nudge toward the stream. “Bath time now, questions later. I’ll be right back.”

Tails looked distinctly dissatisfied, and like he wanted to protest—but he didn’t. Instead, he stripped off his gloves, and set to work on his shoes. As he did that, Sonic doubled back to their campsite.

He wasn’t lying when he said that his Tails had his fair share of mats when they were little. Back when he and Sonic first met, and started traveling together . . . well, this Tails had a point. Sonic hadn’t known anything about mats back then. And Tails, being only four, didn’t really know how to care for and groom himself yet either. So when they spent a week camping outside, and Tails didn’t comb through his fur, he’d end up with mats behind his joints and in his tails. And from the winces that crossed his face and little whines that escaped him when moving made the mats tug on his skin, they hurt. At first, Sonic hadn’t known what to do. But after a little trial and error, they had figured it out, just like everything else.

Sonic scanned his sleeping roll, and grinned when he found three quills stuck in it. He plucked them out, and spread them between his fingers like a comb.

As it turned out, hedgehog quills were pretty handy when it came to working through mats in fox fur.

When he made it back to the stream, Tails was already standing in the water, scrubbing the oil and grime from his head. He didn’t duck his head in the water, which Sonic found a bit odd; his Tails had no problem diving under, no matter how much the idea made Sonic himself shudder. But Sonic didn’t comment on it; he instead just turned his eyes to the sky, watching the clouds overhead as he gave Tails some measure of privacy in the stream. And then, when Tails was done (and it took a while, given how much grime had built up in his fur), Sonic patted the grass in front of him.

“Come over here and take a seat,” he said. “Sonic’s Salon is now open for business.”

Tails didn’t laugh at the joke, but after he wrung the water from his tails, he did as instructed and dropped down onto the grass in front of Sonic, facing the stream.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, as Sonic rolled the quills between his fingers back into comb shape. “It’s not a big deal, we can just cut them out—”

“I’m sure I know what I’m doing,” Sonic said. “I did this for years. But don’t worry; if there are any we can’t comb out, we’ll cut them. I’m doing my best not to hurt you, here. You can trust me.”

Something in the set of Tails’ shoulders told Sonic that he didn’t agree with that, but that was fine. Sometimes trust had to be earned, and Sonic had no problem earning it.

He pressed his fingers to the base of one of the mats on the back of Tails’ neck, holding the root of his fur against his skin. “This is going to tug a little, but I’m going to make it as painless as I can,” he said. “Just hang in there, okay?”

“Mmhm.” Tails squeezed his fingers in the grass, his lips pressed tightly together. He was as ready as he was going to be, Sonic thought. And with that thought in mind, he started gently combing through the mats.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #unbreakable bond #fic fix #this chapter is so long . . . was for real worried i wasn't going to finish it before Frontiers #but i had the power of lo-fi and caffeine on my side #so i did it in the end #the name Oz comes from osprey - type of raptor #Poppy comes from poppyseed - and also a book i read as a kid that had a mouse named Poppy as the protag #Penny is just a random name tho lol sorry Penny #sth

45 notes · View notes