Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The masked man taps his foot. This dreadful ceremony—could it drag on any longer? He glances at his wrist where his watch no longer is, then at the wall with the hope that a clock has appeared in the time he’s spent watching Mayor Alcorn blab about honor. Honor, fame, adoration, celebrations of excellence, blah blah blah…. The old squirrel-man is so boring.

The vigilante is used to going fast. He likes it when the wind rushes past him in a pathetic attempt to match his speed. But this windbag only knows the slow, circuitous route to anywhere important—which is probably why he showed up late. Whatever the pace, Sonic will find a way to cope.

But sometimes, “coping” looks a little more like raising your voice.

“Can we get this done already? I’m freakin’ exhausted from saving your sorry butts.” He rises to his feet with considerable effort and begins striding toward the stage. “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. In case you haven’t noticed, daylight isn’t exactly my scene. So just give me the oversized pair of scissors and let me go to bed,” he suggests hoarsely, dramatically extending a hand.

The mayor sputters for a moment, then sighs. “The press, Sonic,” he whispers.

“Oh, of course. How could I forget about your fleas?” He grabs the mayor’s hand and plasters a tight grin on his face. “Smile for the camera, Acorns. That way this pleasant moment will last forever on your wall.” He gives him a firm handshake, cheesing at the cameras scattered throughout the audience.

Stammering, the mayor reluctantly obliges. Sonic waits for a few photos to be snapped, then rips his hand away. “There. Now that we’ve fed the pests—”

“I must insist you stop insulting the entire city in front of a microphone,” the mayor hisses, grabbing the hero’s shoulder and tearing him away from the device.

“Take a chill pill, Acorns,” Sonic scoffs. “This is only gonna ruin my reputation. You’ll still be made of gold in the eyes of the people.” He yanks the scissors from Mayor Alcorn’s hands and snips the ribbon. “Enjoy the museum, everyone,” he drawls into the microphone, turning to leave before the words have fully left his mouth.

The mayor stutters out a correction—“Gallery!”—that Sonic readily blocks out with a yawn. Finally, he can go home. Without a second thought, he vaults over the crowd and speeds down the road.

~=+()+=~

Slumping into a creaky wooden chair with a mug of lukewarm coffee isn’t the ideal start to Navy Jeż’s day, but it’ll do. He gulps down half in one go, then shifts his sleepy gaze to his roommate. Miles Prower is young and energetic; part of him wishes he could steal some of that youthful stamina. But after seeing Miles grin over his quaint breakfast of an egg on toast, Navy banishes the thought.

“How was the ceremony?” Miles pipes up.

Navy scoffs and props his head up on his palm. “Boring. Mayor Alcorn knows how to turn a paragraph into a novel.”

Miles giggles. “I hear that. Did you… y’know, interfere…?”

“You know me. I can’t stand brainless blabbering,” Navy excuses himself before his young roommate truly accuses him of anything.

A demoralizing sigh blows from across the table. “Sonic—”

“What? I was doing everyone a favor,” he insists, exasperated. “And for the last time, don’t call me that at home.”

“Would you care to explain why?” the two-tailed fox-boy asks. The question is obviously rhetorical—the vigilante has explained countless times—but Navy answers it anyway.

“This area is dangerous. What if someone broke in? My identity is secret; we can’t risk thieves knowing it’s… me.” He pauses, glancing off to the side. “Before justice can be served, rumors spread like wildfire. Please, just… help me out here, Tails.”

Miles pouts, then leans on the table. “First of all, how would a thief know your civilian name? Secondly, how would knowing you’re the Sonic benefit robbers in any way? Finally, I bet my grandmother’s urn you would beat the snot out of anyone who’d dare to break in—and the only reason you’d know would be because of my meticulous organization.”

Navy groans and covers his face. “… Please, Tails.”

Miles sighs heavily again and nods. “Okay, fine. I’ll try to remember.”

“Thank you.”

Miles munches on his breakfast while Navy sips his coffee. The hedgehog-man picks up the newspaper to his left and smirks at the front page. “Hey, Tails,” he calls, turning the paper around. “You tellin’ me you didn’t see the mayor’s face when you bought this?”

The fox-boy fails to contain an explosive snicker as he lays eyes on the printed picture. Mayor Alcorn’s grimace, furrowed brow, and mid-twitch eyelid are as clear a batch of signs as any to convey Sonic’s brazen words. Soon, a fully fledged guffaw echoes off the apartment walls. “They couldn’t have picked a more flattering picture?” he teases. “What did you say to him, anyway?”

Navy shrugs. “You expect me to remember what happened yesterday afternoon?” He kicks back in his rickety chair, balancing it on two creaking legs as he puts his feet on the table. “Whatever it was must’ve been pure genius. Nobody gets the mayor that good—”

Miles pushes Navy’s feet off the table. “Manners, Soni—I mean, Navy!” he scrunches up his nose as though the name tasted bitter. He sighs, letting his shoulders fall. “As much as I appreciate a good prank, maybe it’s time to stop. You don’t show any respect when you’re wearing that mask, and I think it’s becoming an issue.”

“I show people respect,” Navy insists, standing and placing the paper back on the table. “I save their hides. I’m just not sickly sweet about it.”

“And when are you sickly sweet, again?”

Navy groans, defeated. “All the time I’m not being suffocated by a stupid mask.”

“Exactly. Now, why is that?”

“To hide my identity.”

“And?” Miles prompts.

He growls again. “Because I work at a candy store…?”

The fox-boy smiles sympathetically. “Because you feel better. The weight of responsibility isn’t crushing you when all you need to do is pack orders of tooth-rotting deliciousness.”

“‘Tooth-rotting’? Oh, awesome,” he mourns, “a reason to feel soul-crushing guilt and responsibility.” He stares pointedly at Miles, who rolls his eyes.

“It’s just an expression. I’m sure your customers brush their teeth regularly,” he reassures him, smirking and patting his shoulder.

Navy smirks. “Thanks, little buddy.” He ruffles his hair and stands up, downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll be off, then. Have a good day at your shop!”

Miles grins. “Oh, you know I will! And you—don’t you dare have a bad day!”

The two chuckle as they prepare to leave the apartment. Navy steals a glance at his young friend and furrows his brow. Young, energetic, flexible… he’d make a great hero. But the last thing Navy wants to do is shove another, more innocent soul into the drudgery of saving lives. It’s not always saving, after all; sometimes, you stand, helpless, and watch people die. He can’t subject Miles to that torture.

Just as he shoulders his sling bag, Miles approaches him. “Hey, don’t forget to eat,” he reminds him, staring somewhere past him. “And did you move the kitsune?”

Navy glances at the nine-tailed fox statue. “I must’ve bumped it last night,” he guesses, shrugging. “Probably did—I was pretty wasted from overexerting myself for the greater good.” He sighs dramatically and puts his wrist to his forehead. “Woe is me and all that.”

Miles giggles. “Okay, then. Glad to know it was just you.”

Navy ruffles his hair. “Of course it was, buddy. Your locks are impenetrable.” He winks at him before leaving.

As he often does, Navy begins questioning why he has a job in the first place. Hero work is more than enough to pay the bills. But of course, there’s the civilian life to keep up—can’t have people suspecting him of being the rude, thrill-seeking vigilante many despise and others only slightly appreciate. Besides, his coworkers are good friends, and he likes many of the regulars. There’s no good reason to quit this part-time gig in favor of a grueling full-time obligation—aside from the fact that he can barely sleep, of course.

Finishing the last of his breakfast—a croissant sandwich he bought at the cafe next door—he rubs his eyes and enters the pink-themed candy store. His head is full of unhelpful thoughts and broken dreams. But this shop is too pleasant to just pass by—that’s what brought him here in the first place. The owner’s a bit rough around the edges, but his establishment is pristine. Navy glances at the logo on the wall and smirks. Whoever this “Maria” is, she must have done something really special to get her name all over this shop. Maybe she’s the owner’s daughter.

He slides past the customers already filling containers with sweets and enters the break room. There, a coworker is clocking out. The two high-five and trade places as Navy grabs his apron. He mans the register just in time for a small family to weigh their “tooth decay of choice,” as the kids’ father jokingly nicknames the sweets. Navy chuckles and rings them up.

Then he realizes how oddly the time and the presence of children align. Most kids would be in school right now. Nobody looks particularly uncomfortable, but… maybe this is the “parents’” plot to get them to trust him. Navy’s neck prickles.

“So,” he starts, trying to sound casual, “homeschool, brave health visit, or holiday?”

The father perks up a bit as if surprised by the sudden questions. “Oh, we’re a homeschool family,” he explains.

“Nice. I was homeschooled, too! Momma taught me everything I know—except how to weigh the candy just so,” Navy tells them secretively, leaning in to whisper the trick to the family. “You just have to balance it right so the scale doesn’t feel as much weight,” he adds with a wink.

The kids beam. Soon, the happy family leaves the shop, smiling wider than ever. Navy grins after them, simultaneously content and wistful and bereft. He feels the hole in his heart more than ever in times like these.

While socializing may not be Sonic’s biggest strength, it definitely is Navy’s. He chats with customers and helps them out for hours. Since he only works two days a week, he can spend as long as he wants at the register—the boss said so. Given the opportunity, he’ll gladly spend all day in the shop.

A stroke of magic awaits Navy in the afternoon. His favorite customer strides into the shop, holding the hand of an unfamiliar child. This time, he’s completely at ease with the child’s situation; after all, he’s probably just one of her students. Miss Rosenfeld is a wonderful teacher. She often brings her class into the shop after school—with permission from the parents, of course—and pays for everything without complaint. It’s because of her dedication and kindness that Navy adores her.

He rests his cheek on his palm and watches her help the child with his candy. The kid looks younger than her other students, but Navy guesses he’s either a little sibling, a genius grade skipper, or a neglected child whose parents forgot him at school. Whatever the case, Miss Rosenfeld is a saint.

When the pair finally come to the counter, Navy grins like a celebrity. “New student, Miss Rosenfeld?” he asks, weighing the bag of candy while lifting part of it. He knows teachers don’t get paid enough and doesn’t want to drain her wallet.

Miss Rosenfeld eyes his hand knowingly. “You really don’t have to do that,” she giggles.

His face heats up as he smirks sheepishly. “Yeah, well, it could be our secret.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “You’re too sweet… but really, it’s okay.”

Navy lifts more of the bag defiantly. “Well, too bad. I always appreciate your business, so… consider this a regular’s discount.” He and the teacher chuckle as he prices her purchase.

The child tugs on Miss Rosenfeld’s sleeve until she kneels to listen to him. As he whispers, though, Navy can hear every word. “Is that your boyfriend, Mama?”

The two adults lock eyes. Navy guffaws awkwardly but refrains from asking any of the questions swirling around in his head. Miss Rosenfeld gasps, then giggles and ruffles the kid’s hair. “No, he’s not,” she answers a little too quickly for Navy’s taste. “And I’m your teacher, not your mother! Let’s try to keep the two separate, okay?” She strokes and gently pinches his cheek, smiling with her cheeks all pink.

“But I hate her,” the boy whimpers, rubbing one eye. Miss Rosenfeld’s expression darkens for a split second before she gathers herself and hugs him. “I wish you could be my Mama,” he adds mournfully.

She quietly pays for the sweets, nodding thankfully at the still-baffled Navy. She gives him a final smile before carrying the candy and the child out of the store. New student or charity case, that kid gave Navy a heart attack. Nevertheless, seeing Miss Rosenfeld in action warms his heart. She’s a better, more personal kind of hero to him—someone he could never bring himself to be.

He clocks out soon after she leaves, burdened by thoughts of heroism and the lack thereof. He feels he’s neglected the people of the city in order to live a slow, comfortable life instead of bearing his cross. If he doesn’t carry this weight, who will? He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

He steps foot in his apartment and immediately grows tired. The walls seem to close in around him in a warm embrace, begging him to sleep. But before listening to the call of dreamland, he slaps together a sandwich and scarfs it down. Only after he’s eaten can he rest, or else he’ll be weak when he wakes—and the last thing he needs when he’s saving lives is to be weak. But the moment he’s done with his food, he falls into bed and gives in to the call.

Chapter Text

Navy’s eyes begrudgingly open as Miles enters the apartment. “I’m home, are you?” the boy calls, setting down his bag and hanging his coat. “Navy…?”

Curiosity washes over Navy. He sits up and stays quiet, eager to see what his young friend will do. The fox-boy sighs, his giant orange ears flopping back with sadness. Even as Navy’s heart aches, he refrains from responding. There’s more—he knows there is. But he doesn’t like the “more” that’s in store: Miles’s tears.

The moment he hears the faint sobbing from the couch, Navy dashes to his side with as much speed as he can muster without ripping the apartment to shreds. “Hey,” he murmurs soothingly, “I’m here, buddy. I’m sorry.”

At first stunned, Miles quickly discerns what happened and yanks Navy into a hug. “It’s okay,” he sniffles. “I had a bad day, that’s all.”

“Shoot,” Navy mutters, pulling back to see Miles’s expression. He’s grimacing in a failed attempt to smile. “What happened?”

“Someone asked for me today,” he divulges, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. “She wasn’t very nice. Bunnie tried to explain that I’m not good with people, but this lady kept going off at us about child labor and demihuman rights and whatnot. Then she asked for the ‘real’ manager, but I couldn’t say anything. I just… shut down.” He wraps his arms around himself and cries. “I don’t even remember if I said anything. She screamed at us for at least ten minutes. She called my work ‘shoddy’ and our service ‘terrible’, Navy!” he exclaims, then buries his face in his arms and weeps.

Navy perches on the couch beside him and puts his arm around him. “Shows what she knows,” he scoffs. “Look, that lady was obviously not a lady. She’s some kind of monster—a soulless, spineless, brainless jerk who should’ve minded her own business before she tried to criticize yours. And I think…” he trails off, then takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself for Miles’s reaction as he says, “I think she’s going to be my first stop tonight.”

Miles gasps. “No! That’s just going to make things worse!”

“Oh, come on. Who wouldn’t love a visit from a hero?” he points out, shrugging. “She seems like the type to submit exaggerated noise complaints when a toddler stubs his toe. When she thinks the local cops are gonna show, it’ll be me instead.”

Miles wraps himself into a tighter ball. “How will you know it’s the right person? There’s definitely more than one jerk in this city.”

“I’m gonna get the security footage from your store and track her down,” he states like it’s no big deal.

“No, you’re not,” Miles growls, glaring at Navy. “I’m not giving permission, and that makes it illegal. You can’t do illegal things, Sonic.”

Navy rolls his eyes. “It’s Navy. And puh-lease, everybody does at least one illegal thing in life. If I’m doing it for the greater good, the city will forgive me.”

“You’re suggesting—to the owner of the footage, mind you—that stealing private security tapes in order to terrorize one woman in her own home for yelling at someone… is a good idea?”

Navy blinks and presses his lips together. “… Yes?”

“I won’t forgive you if you do it,” Miles claims, crossing his arms and legs.

Navy rustles his hair, grinning. “I know you will—”

The young fox-boy slaps his hand away. “I won’t! So don’t do it!”

The hedgehog-man pauses, his cocky smirk fading. “Did… something else happen?”

Miles flinches and side-eyes him. The air is silent and tight between them, thicker than gelatin and heavier than tungsten. Even so, Navy’s smile returns slowly.

“Something did happen,” he repeats definitively. “Who was there? A girl?”

Miles wraps his arms around himself. “No, there was nobody. Me, Bunnie, the jerk, and other customers. And Antoine for a minute, but… that’s it.”

“Which customer stayed longest, then?” Navy asks teasingly, leaning over to poke his shoulder.

Miles rolls the affected shoulder and growls. “Leave it.”

“Am I misreading this?” Navy wonders aloud, more confused than giddy now. “You said it was a bad day. Did someone else hurt you?”

Miles sighs. “I said to leave it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Navy pauses, then lets out a breath. “Yeah. Sorry.” He stands to raid the kitchen. Halfway there, he stops. “I just want to help, you know. I don’t really expect to go out tonight and find the jerks who hurt you. That was more of a… long-term goal. But that’s all to protect you.”

“I need to live in the real world,” Miles grumbles. “Can’t have you coddling me all the time.”

Navy scoffs. “So, what, it’s okay when Bunnie does it? And Vanilla, too—you’ll take it from them but not me?” He grips the back of the couch and peers at Miles’s tiny, balled-up form. He looks like a discarded idea left in the corner behind the waste bin. Navy’s heart cracks. “You’re my little buddy, my roommate… my friend. Can’t I help a friend?”

Miles sighs, his throat tight. “Bunnie’s leaving,” he whimpers. “She and Antoine are moving to the country to have their baby.”

Navy’s eyes widen. “Bunnie’s… pregnant?”

Miles nods. “Antoine joined her for lunch to tell me. I cried, but… I’m really happy for them. It just sucks to lose my main communicator, mechanical assistant, and… super friend. Bunnie’s amazing; I’m gonna miss her.” He hugs the beat-up throw pillow by his side as more tears leak from his eyes.

Navy rounds the couch and embraces his friend. “Well… just call if you need me at the shop. You know I’ll be over in a flash,” he assures him, winking. Miles giggles and hiccups.

“Sonic speed?”

“Faster than Sonic speed,” Navy corrects. “I’ll be there for you—no questions asked.”

Miles finally hugs him back. “Thank you, Son—I mean, Navy.” His face flushes as tears well up in his eyes again. “Ugh. Wish I could get that right.”

Navy hugs him closer. “Don’t worry about it. Call me what you want.”

“Just for today?” Miles asks, his ears perking up.

Navy shakes his head, grinning. “Nope. Forever. And we can play it off as an inside joke if anybody hears,” he assures him.

Miles’s tails twirl and wag happily while his arms tighten around Navy’s shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he repeats over and over again. Every time, Navy replies with either laughter or an appropriately worded response. Miles sobs and laughs into Navy’s shoulder, jostling him with each breath. Eventually, he calms down, and his stomach takes over with a growl. The roommates lock eyes and laugh.

“Sounds like dinnertime,” Navy remarks. “I’ll cook.”

“I was thinking about living, actually, so why don’t I cook?” Miles taunts.

“Ah!” Navy cries out dramatically. “You wound me!” The two laugh while Navy pretends to attack Miles and the fox-boy defends himself by insulting Navy’s cooking further. Eventually, they form a truce that lasts long enough for Miles to finish making dinner.

As they eat, Miles smirks. “How was your day?” he asks, not bothering to hide his mischievous expression.

Navy pauses in the middle of chewing. “Good, why…?”

Miles shrugs. “You always seem to be smiling when you come home from the candy store. I just wondered if today was any different,” he claims, but the smirk remains on his face.

“And you have a theory as to why I’m so chipper, do you?” Navy guesses, rolling his eyes and grinning.

“Yep,” Miles confirms through a mouthful of food. He swallows before presenting his hypothesis. “A girl.”

Navy scoffs a little too quickly. “Yeah, right. You wish,” he mutters, avoiding his friend’s eyes.

Miles giggles. “There’s definitely a girl,” he squeals. “Who is she—a customer or a coworker? Is she nice?”

“No,” Navy grumbles, crossing his arms and turning away sharply. “She doesn’t exist, Tails. Cut it out.”

Miles only grins wider. “Sure. What’s her name?”

Navy heaves a huge sigh and slides his hands down his face. He gives the young mechanic a death glare before spitting, “Rosenfeld. Miss Rosenfeld.”

“‘Miss Rosenfeld’?” Miles echoes in disbelief. “You don’t know her first name? You, Navy Jeż, the Great Socializer, don’t know your crush’s name?” He laughs.

“Oh, for the love of…” he sputters, struggling to find words. “First of all, she’s not my crush! Secondly, I’ve only heard ‘Miss Rosenfeld’ come from the kids’ mouths, okay?”

“And she has kids?” Miles gasps. “Are you sure she’s not ‘Mrs. Rosenfeld’?”

Navy snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. First of all, she looks fresh out of university. The kids are her students; she’s a teacher. And there’s no sign of a ring. Not to mention the stuff she wears—it’s like she’s asking for trouble. I mean, how do you expect to get away with dressing all cute in a city like—?” He freezes, red slowly creeping up his face as his eyes widen.

Miles smirks and nods. “Total crush.”

Navy’s shoulders fall. “Oh, can it,” he huffs, cradling his head in his arms on the table.

“Bet you want to be in her class,” Miles teases, chortling.

“I said can it,” Navy hisses.

“Oh, but can’t it?” Miles quips, leaning toward him mischievously. “I say you should go for it. Take a chance—ask her out!” He grins innocently as Navy glances up at him. “If she’s single, she’s got no reason to say no. You’re always super nice to her, no doubt—what’s not to love? And if you bring her home, maybe… maybe I’ll be able to talk to her, if she’s as great as you think,” he adds wistfully.

Navy’s scalp tingles. His chest puffs itself out with an air of confidence he’s only imagined before. His lips stretch into a smile on their own while his fists clench with determination. “You… really think so?”

“I know so. Go get her, tiger.” He swats playfully at Navy.

Navy rolls his eyes and swats back. “Sounds like you want her, too.”

“So, you finally admit it!” Miles exclaims victoriously.

“N-no, I—!”

“No take-backs! You said it!”

Navy grunts, defeated. “Fine. I said it. I… I like Miss Rosenfeld.”

“I think you do more than like her,” Miles teases, but Navy motions for him to zip his lips. The fox-boy snickers but complies.

Miles finishes his dinner and puts away leftovers. Navy clears his plate and prepares to patrol the city. He dons his suit and mask as the stars appear in the sky. When he’s ready, he waves goodbye to Miles and climbs the fire escape.

The city lights flicker on and off by the second, twinkling like the barely visible stars above them. All these people, all these lights, all this… pollution, and only one person to really take care of all. It’s a heavy lift, but Sonic makes it work. But the one thing that makes it worth it anymore is the commission he gets from the government. Nevertheless, it’s a duty; he won’t abandon it and leave the city to die. At the first sign of trouble, Sonic leaps from the roof and speeds toward it—no hesitation, no reluctance, no problem.

Chapter Text

Sonic’s body aches. He worked from dusk till dawn without rest, saving people from getting mugged or hurt, helping policemen arrest criminals, stopping robberies before they could happen, and collecting bounties on his way to the next issue. He accomplished a lot. Now, the city’s regular people are waking up, traffic is thickening, and Sonic’s weary bones refuse to move another inch.

He lies on the roof of an office building, blocking the early morning sun from his eyes with one limp arm. He’s too tired to go home to his bed. Hours pass with him there. Only once does he move, and when he does, he only shifts his arm to better cover his eyes. The ache gradually fades.

But every last muscle in his body tenses up when he hears a single scream.

“No!” she yells, distressed and defiant. “No, I’m coming!”

Sonic sits up and strains his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation. Only then does he realize it’s coming from behind him… and it’s quiet now.

“Holy… n-no, yeah, I’m still here. Just… I’m not coming, no. But I know who is.”

Sonic slouches. Crap.

“You’re that Sonic hero, right?” the lady asks, creeping toward him slowly. She can’t reach him since he’s on the other side of the railing, but to his disappointment, she can still see him. “Please… I need you. My kids need you.”

“Your kids?” Sonic blurts before he can think. “At… at school?”

She nods, tears in her eyes. “There’s a shooter,” she explains, lowering her phone from her ear and gripping it to her chest.

Miss Rosenfeld. He stands, determination and adrenaline fueling his every move. “Which school?”

A single sob escapes her lips. “The public primary school.”

He nods. “I’m on my way. Tell your friend—” he gestures to the phone— “not to panic.” Without waiting for a word of thanks, he backflips off the building. He spins, bounces off the side of the building, and lands on the asphalt below before speeding down the street. His feet already know the way to the school; he’s on autopilot the whole way, hoping Miss Rosenfeld is okay.

But his worries amplify when he arrives. He couldn’t have imagined such a dire scene.

Police surround the building, blood soaks the front stairs, bodies are lined on the pavement in bags, ambulances and EMTs stand at the ready, and every face at the site is horrified and anxious. Gunshots still ring out from inside as police frantically search the halls for survivors and find corpses. Students, faculty, desperate parents… all of them without heartbeats. Sonic scans the dead and wounded for signs of Miss Rosenfeld.

I’m wasting time, he chastises himself, clenching his fists. He bursts through the doors, inadvertently drawing fire from a lone police officer patrolling the entrance hall. Without much time to apologize, he yells a brief “sorry” as he runs. The farther he goes, the louder the shots and his heartbeat get.

When a deafening bang rings out, he screeches to a halt and takes cover around a corner. Screaming and crying echo in the hall from behind a shut door. Sonic’s heart crams itself into his throat. The shooter is in a classroom full of kids.

He sneaks up to the door and listens in. The shooter’s speech is slurred and gravelly, making it nearly incomprehensible. But Sonic hears the important part: “I’ll kill ya if ya don’t!”

That’s more than enough. He opens the door just as the man sends another bullet into the brick wall, hiding the noise perfectly. The hostages sob harder when they see their savior arrive, but Sonic puts a finger to his lips and takes a position behind the shooter. He counts down in his head.

Suddenly, one boy makes a break for the open door. The shooter aims, grips the gun… fires. The boy drops to the floor. Screams pierce the air. The man laughs, spewing some “I told you so” nonsense. He chuckles and snorts, gloating by poking the kid with the barrel of his automatic firearm.

The hero clenches his teeth as the man finally turns and notices him. “That is it!”

Sonic roars and grabs the gun. The two men fight for control over it, tugging and readjusting, kicking and biting, yelling curses and insults while the hostages watch in terror. Just as Sonic feels the firearm slip from the gunman’s grip, he glances up—only for a split second—and realizes who the teacher of this class must be. Miss Rosenfeld.

The gun escapes from Sonic’s hands as the shooter rips it away and kicks him onto the ground. He shoves the barrel in his face and grins, but Sonic springs away from him. One bullet hits his bulletproof vest, another slices through his heavy-duty trousers, and a third crashes through the floorboards. Sonic leaps off the far wall and tackles the man, but not before another bullet can lodge itself in his unprotected shoulder. He screams with pain, but he won’t stop until the gunman can’t lift a finger.

As they wrestle again, he takes four, five, six more shots to the torso, the pain beginning to linger as though the vest has torn. The man figures out he’s armored and manages to twist the gun enough to shoot him in the leg. The resulting bullets sink deep into his thigh, scraping the bone. He shrieks and pushes instead of pulling, knocking the shooter to the floor. Another bullet careens out of the gun, connecting with his hip.

But despite the searing pain, Sonic sinks punch after punch into the man’s face, ribs, and arms to weaken and disarm him. He kicks at his kneecaps and shins to cause him more pain. The screaming from the children and gunman alike ceases; the shooter has fallen unconscious under Sonic’s relentless fists. But he keeps beating him bloody, cracking his nose, shattering ribs, dislodging one kneecap before switching to the other, sabotaging his posterity, smashing his fingers and toes, and more—all because he ruined the innocent outlook of hundreds of children by showing up with a gun… and, if he’s being honest, because the man traumatized Miss Rosenfeld.

He falters. The pain has fully sunk in now, making him dizzy and nauseous. He loses his balance and crumples, falling toward the huddled hostages. He barely registers his landing as his vision fades. The last thing he hears is a muffled wheeze… quickly followed by an ear-splitting explosion.

Chapter Text

Thousands of sensory overloaders flood Sonic the moment he wakes: smoke, fire, heat, screams, jostling, pain, sobbing….

His eyes widen. Someone is carrying him. Through the smoke, he perceives the sweet, adorable face of Miss Rosenfeld. Her determination is not bright enough to blind him to the tears making streaks down her face, but her leadership, selflessness, and kindness are stunning enough to stop his heart. He swallows hard. His heart squeezes and skips several beats. He feels his consciousness fading again, but Miss Rosenfeld clutches him closer as a chunk of flaming drywall crashes to the floor just behind them. The sudden movement and sound shocks him awake, his heart thudding again.

She steals a glance down at him and gasps. The sudden inhalation of smoke sends her into a coughing fit, which sends her to her knees. One of her students stops to help, but she urges him onward. “Even if I don’t make it out of here,” she shouts over the creaking and blazing building, “you have to keep moving!”

Sonic sits up and flashes a thumbs-up at the kid. “I’ll take care of her,” he rasps, smirking.

“Who’ll take care of who?” the teacher chuckles, still choking. “Just go, Adrian! I’ll catch up!”

Adrian nods and sprints to catch up with the other kids. But moments after he disappears and Miss Rosenfeld begins to rise to her feet, the ceiling collapses ahead of the two adults. Fire rages on the insulation and ceiling tiles in their path; hopelessness seeps into their hearts.

“I’m sorry, Miss Rosenfeld,” Sonic murmurs. “I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”

She scoffs. “How could you have known he had a bomb in the school? He fooled me—I thought he was completely incompetent, even drunk. Anyone would’ve loved to do what you did, but… only you could’ve.” She twirls her hair around her finger. But her eyes change in a blink, becoming wild and scolding. “Even though you saved us from his gun, I can’t condone what you did! Did you even think about what you were doing in the presence of children? You beat a man senseless in front of a class of second-graders!”

Sonic winces. “Look, I… well, that wasn’t the plan—”

She growls. “You don’t have a lot of time for a plan in situations like that. So pray tell, what was the plan?”

“Miss Rosenfeld, the plan was to save your lives,” he sighs. “I lost control. What he did was unforgivable—to me, at least. People like that belong in the meat grinder.”

“People like that go to prison,” she retorts. “They can rot in jail and think about what they’ve done. But you… you might’ve just killed him! Now he’ll never reflect or repent!”

“If he’s dead, he did that to himself!” Sonic roars over the sound of crumbling drywall. He glances up to the source of the noise and gasps, then tackles Miss Rosenfeld to the opposite side of the hallway. Hot embers fizzle against his gear. He grunts in pain and curls into a ball beside the teacher.

“Sonic…!” she yelps, cradling his head in her hands. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth—literally. His jaw won’t unclench, his teeth grinding through the pain. “Just a bit sore.” But just as the words leave his mouth, his strength leaves his body. Try as he might, it’s no use; every twitch just makes him feel weaker. His lungs and heart even slow down. Slow…. How he hates feeling slow.

His breathing grows labored as he strains to speak in vain. Miss Rosenfeld frets over him for a moment before a determined expression takes over her face. “I’m sorry, Sonic,” she murmurs to him. “Your privacy is important, but your life is even more so.” With that, she rips off his mask, gasps in a huge breath, and… coughs. But she tries again, more slowly this time, and manages to breathe in without expelling the air in the same moment. But as she leans closer, she gets a good look at Sonic’s revealed face and pauses.

Sonic—no, Navy—stares up at her with blurry eyes before his fluttering lids close for good. Miss Rosenfeld shakes away her awe and smashes her mouth onto his. She blows air into his mouth furiously, sealing the connection with her fingers. Navy gradually begins to breathe again, so Miss Rosenfeld lifts him up and heads into the nearest classroom, narrowly avoiding the inferno on the floor and fiery rain.

“Floor… is lava,” Navy quips weakly as Miss Rosenfeld reaches a window.

She giggles. “Right. I liked it better when it was just a game, though.” She sets Navy down and pushes the window from below. “Curse these sticky… budget… panes of… nonsense!” With a final war cry, she flings the window open. It shatters on impact with the frame. She winces, then lifts the hero into her arms and lowers him through the window. He’s safe in the nick of time; she leaps out as well, drags him away, and shields him as the room’s entire ceiling collapses.

Both parties lie on the cool grass, choking their lungs out. Navy’s chest burns and throbs; his leg and hip buzz with lightning, the dampness over them both serving to intensify the shock. Miss Rosenfeld laughs lightly, then glances down at him and shrieks.

“Sonic, you’re bleeding!” she exclaims, hovering her hands over his wounds anxiously. “What do I do, what do I…?”

Navy takes her hand. “Miss… Rosenfeld,” he whispers between coughs. “Let’s just… relax for a bit.”

She huffs. “How do you expect me to—?”

Navy tugs on her hand and hugs her close. Initially, he’d intended to kiss her. Disappointingly, that plan fell through when she moved the tiniest bit. But he’s content with hugging her; a little respect for the girl who just saved his life is a must. After all, she’d only “kissed” him to save his life—would she like a real kiss? He can’t say.

But all too soon, she pushes away. “No, Sonic—or Navy…?” She shakes her head. “Just… ugh , whatever! I’m gonna get you some help!” She stands shakily and wobbles away. Halfway to the corner of the building, she falls, but her unwavering determination shines through again. She keeps running until she’s out of sight.

While she’s gone, Navy scrambles to cover his face. The oxygen mask he’ll most likely receive will take care of his nose and mouth; he tears off one of his sleeves to tie over his eyes. By the time Miss Rosenfeld gets back, he’s removing trapped hairs from the knot. His ears perk up when he hears the grass squishing beneath her feet. 

“Sonic,” she calls softly, “I brought help. They’re going to put an oxygen mask on you now, okay?”

He nods, smirking. “I knew they would. Thanks, Miss Rosenfeld.”

She giggles. “Call me Amy.”

Amy. The name echoes in his mind like a wind chime swaying in a gentle breeze. Amy Rosenfeld. It’s simple, yet… beautiful.

He inhales deeply as the EMTs place the expected oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Exhaustion overtakes him, but he can’t sleep; he relaxes every muscle in his battered body and fills his head with thoughts of Amy. She was more of a hero today than I was, he muses, a faint smile twitching on his face. I’m proud of her.

Chapter Text

A faint beeping greets Sonic’s ears as he regains consciousness at last. He has no clue how long he’s been asleep, but there are more important things to worry about—first and foremost, the fact that he can see. Where has his makeshift blindfold gone? He eases his achy body upright and glances around. There’s a vase of gorgeous pink flowers on his windowsill, a shiny helmet on a small side table, and a chair with wrinkled fabric beside his bed. There’s no doubt he’s in the hospital, but questions swirl in his groggy brain like a typhoon. Most pressing is the matter of who took his desperate DIY mask.

The door opens with a soft click. Sonic tenses up, then yelps in pain. He grabs for the helmet, but his hand meets only air and the tabletop. Before his head can catch up with the rest of his body, his hand gets a violent introduction to the floor. His slowpoke head soon follows.

“Man, those vending machines are—wait, Sonic…?” The chipper voice trails off, then restarts with a squeaky gasp. “Sonic! Are you okay?”

Sonic groans as his two-tailed friend helps him back into bed. “Been better. I think I could use a few less bullets in me, though,” he admits, wincing. “Aside from that, I also think a depth perception check would do me some good.”

Miles furrows his brow. “Depth perception? Why’s that?”

“I was reaching for that fancy new helmet, y’see,” he tells him, pointing to the headgear. “Is that for my Halloween costume?”

Miles nods sheepishly and scoots the helmet closer. “It was meant to be within reach. Sorry about that.”

Sonic shakes his head. “It probably was. I’m just… discombobulated. You don’t happen to have a recombobulator at the workshop, do you?”

The fox-boy grins. “Not one for demihumans. You’ll heal fast, though—you always do.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Sonic grunts, rolling his shoulders. “That’s gonna be crucial in these next few days. Come to think of it, I’m feeling better than in the school,” he notes, fingering his right shoulder. The first shot that hit him only grazed him, but it was deep. He’s thankful his collarbone didn’t pop out of place. But he does want to see the damage; it’s easier to heal if you know just what’s wrong. Unfortunately for that desire, his wounds are wrapped snugly in bandages.

“Good,” Miles hums absently. “Um, about that helmet….”

“Special Tails-tech update?” Sonic guesses, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Lay it on me, li’l bro.”

Miles blushes. “W-well, it’s bulkier than your last mask, but that’s for good reason. First of all, it’s way more bulletproof,” he lists, picking up the helmet and knocking on it for effect. “Secondly, it’s got thermal vision in the visor, which you can activate by pressing the button on the left temple.” He presses the button, which lets out a satisfying click. The visor changes color. “It also has night vision, which is the button on the opposite side. So, night vision is on the right—got it?”

“Night’s right—I got you,” Sonic echoes. “Thanks. That’ll be easy to remember.”

Miles grins. “Great! Also, there’s extra padding for comfort and noggin protection and audio-regulative speakers beside the ears to make sure you hear everything the extra sensitive external microphones pick up, essentially giving you super-hearing.”

“Sounds great, buddy,” the hero approves with a smirk. “I love it when you fix my gear. It always comes out better.”

The fox-boy laughs. “I can’t not upgrade tech! If it comes into my shop, it’s getting more than a polish!”

Sonic snickers. “Guess I’d better not lose a limb. You’d make me the world’s greatest can opener.”

“Can opener, vegetable dicer, dish washer, egg fryer, and tea brewer, you mean,” the fox corrects smugly. “And I’m sure I could cram a few more features into the bulkier parts. The rest wouldn’t take up the whole hand!”

“That’s my genius buddy,” Sonic chuckles, ruffling the boy’s orange hair.

A sudden noise—a boot scuffing against the floor—jolts Sonic to attention. His eyes are wide and almost guilty as he stares up at the new guest before he perceives who it is.

“I’d think you’d be happy to see me,” Amy Rosenfeld chuckles, her voice hoarse.

“I am,” Sonic replies softly. Miles springs up from the seat and gestures for her to sit, then folds his hands and steps toward the corner. “You’re… not hurt?”

She nods. “Just a bunch of smoke in my lungs. Miraculously, I’m fine.” She nods gratefully at the fox-boy and sits down with a heavy sigh. “My students are still scared stiff. The administration is still looking for another place to hold classes—completely ignoring the digital option, of course—while everyone recovers. We’re also… we’re still collecting and counting our dead. The number’s climbing; I don’t like it.” She squeezes her eyes shut while her hands grip her skirt’s hem.

Sonic puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’d be higher without you. I owe you my life.”

She glances at him, then grunts, “I could’ve done more.”

The hero scoffs. “Amy—”

“You would’ve.”

He snorts. “Then why didn’t I?”

She hangs her head. “Because you weren’t there from the start. I was.”

Words fail him. He can’t deny it—his speed and strength would’ve helped a lot of people survive the tragedy, but… “There’s no use in looking back, thinking about what could’ve been,” he reminds her softly. “We can only move forward and hold onto hope. That’s what I have to do every day. That’s the only reason I can keep doing what I do.”

Tears stain Amy’s cheeks. Her mouth opens as if to form words, but no sound reaches the hero’s blue ears. He leans forward and strokes her shoulder, wordlessly inviting her into a hug, but she shies away. He takes the hint and backs off.

In the corner, Miles clears his throat and softly proclaims, “You kept your class alive. That’s a feat.”

Amy blurts a single sob. “All but one.”

The room falls silent once more. Miles hesitantly puts his hand on Amy’s shoulder and receives a tear-streaked smile in return. After a few more seconds, Sonic breaks the silence.

“Tails here only willingly talks around people he likes. You’re something special, Amy; it took me weeks to earn his trust.”

Miles blushes as Amy replies sheepishly, “Well, you see… it’s been around five days since the incident. Miles and I have encountered each other a few times.”

Sonic holds his breath and blinks twice. When he finally breathes again, he lets out a stunned, strained huff. “Five days? Like, five business days, five… units of twelve hours, five…?”

“120 hours,” Amy confirms. “You’ve been out like a light this whole time.”

“Strange,” he mutters. “I don’t feel weaker, but… I don’t feel much stronger, either. My wounds should’ve healed by now.”

“Th-there’s something else,” Miles chimes in. “Those bullets… I think they were laced with something.”

Sonic snaps his fingers. “Yeah, they must’ve been—I couldn’t stand how slow and weak I felt in the hall!”

Amy snorts. “You couldn’t stand,” she chuckles through her residual tears.

Sonic coughs. “W-well, yeah. That, too.” He scrubs the underside of his nose with one finger. “Maybe not the best introduction, huh?”

“What do you mean, ‘introduction’?” Amy echoes. “We’ve met plenty of times. You’re ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ at the candy store, and you always light up when I get through the door.”

The injured man’s face flushes. “You… think I’m handsome?”

She shrugs, paying more attention to his blanket than to him as she draws shapes on it. “It’s just a descriptor. Don’t… don’t read into it.”

He deflates a bit. “Oh.” Then, he recalls her next statement. “Hey, I don’t light up that much,” he insists. Was it that obvious? Boy… I’m so screwed.

“You could have sparkles around your face and I’d see no difference,” she giggles. “Besides, you’re always trying to give me discounts, too—does that mean nothing?” She bats her eyes at him.

His cheeks burn. “W-well, I just—”

“S-Sonic,” Miles blurts, “did you… want to hear about th-the… the chemical i-in the bullets?” He wrings his hands, his eyes flitting to Amy apologetically. She smiles at him, allowing him to interrupt her teasing.

Sonic glances from one guest to the other as if deciding which conversation to continue. “Yes,” he answers after a few awkward seconds. “How detailed is your report?”

“Very,” Miles sighs, both proud and exhausted. “I stayed up for two nights straight to get it done, and it’s a beauty.”

Sonic blows out a low whistle; Miles’s tails wag gently. “Sweet, but… don’t work yourself to your doom, okay? Can’t have my little buddy in my current position,” the hero remarks, beckoning the teen closer and tousling his hair. His twin tails’ wagging causes a flower petal to fall.

Amy stands, clutching her purse. “I should go. You two have fun talking about poison bullets.” She smiles at the two and flashes a thumbs-up.

Sonic’s face falls. “O-oh. Okay. Um… you have fun doing… whatever you’re gonna do, then,” he replies awkwardly.

“Probably going to console mourning families and have another frustrating conversation with the faculty,” she sighs. “But I might get free food out of one of those.”

Sonic returns the thumbs-up. “Worth it?”

She laughs. “Not really. Either way, I’ll be back later. Those flowers aren’t going to survive till the end of the week at this rate.” With a quick wave and a wish for good luck, she exits.

As soon as she’s gone, Sonic turns to Miles, beaming and biting his lip. “She’s bringing me flowers,” he whispers giddily. Miles laughs.

Chapter Text

Another week passes before Sonic gets discharged. Only six people ever saw his face in there—Miles, Amy, the D’Coolette couple, and two familiar doctors; the remainder of visitors to the private room had to face the helmet. Even the rotation of nurses changing his bandages never read his expression. Sonic preferred it that way.

Back home at last, Navy tries to relax. Unfortunately, the bullets were built to last; the chemicals packed inside of and around them cause burning sensations to bubble beneath his skin long after they’re gone. Thus, from the moment he arrives on the couch to the minute Miles’s keys jingle in the lock that evening, Navy spectacularly fails at falling asleep.

Miles winces upon seeing him. “Yikes. Couldn’t sleep?”

Navy turns his saggy eyes toward Miles. “How’d you guess?”

The young fox-boy snickers. “I’m a genius, that’s how.” He sets his bag down and sits beside Navy. “Want me to invent a sleeping mask that knocks you out… b-but in a kind, gentle way…?”

Navy snorts. “Thanks, li’l bro, but I’ll be fine once those chemical burns fade. I can be back in action before that, though—what do you think? Should I go out tonight?”

“Only if ‘go out’ means you’re finally taking Amy to dinner,” Miles teases, clicking his tongue. “You’re still fragile from that mess. I won’t let you take another hit so soon.”

The vigilante sighs like a deflating balloon. “Fine, Dad.”

Miles giggles, but his jolly expression fades before long. “Is that what dads are like?” he asks quietly.

Navy glances at him sorrowfully. “No… I mean, not always. They devote time to their kids. They care for them and love them, even when it looks more like punishment. They look out for them.” He wrings his hands. “At least… they should.”

Silence falls on them again. Navy’s father worked himself to death; Miles’s never showed up. It wasn’t a common topic in their makeshift family for good reason.

“I guess… having you as a big brother is kinda like having a dad, then,” Miles murmurs. He wraps one of his tails around Navy and puts his head on his shoulder.

Tears jump into Navy’s eyes. “Crap, dude…. You’re gonna make me cry, and if I cry….”

Miles giggles. “If you cry, I cry,” he finishes for him, already beginning to weep.

The two embrace. Even if the rest of the world were against them, they’d be just fine with each other.

~=+()+=~

The following morning, two things stand out to Navy. Firstly, he smells strong coffee—something he usually only smells when he’s awake enough to get the machine started. Secondly and more surprisingly, he hears frantic whispers. A whole conversation between his shy, machine-obsessed little brother and… someone else? He has to find out who before he loses himself to curiosity; little else gets him out of bed faster.

“He’s not better yet,” Miles insists, sounding more choked up and upset by the second. His visitor hunches over beneath a hat. “I won’t make him fight through the pain and inevitably fall victim to it.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Navy interrupts smugly, “I’d say you have no faith in me whatsoever.”

Miles and his guest jump. As the fox-boy stammers out excuses, Navy glimpses who’s under the cap. “Ah, good morning, Antoine,” he greets the coyote-man.

“Bonjour,” Antoine squeaks, then clears his throat. “Pardonnez-moi. My throat, erm….” He trails off awkwardly. “Apologies. If we had known you were awake, we would have talked to you directly.”

“It’s no problem, ’Twan,” Navy forgives him. “I get it. Tails is worried about me. But what’s there to be worried about? That seems important.”

Antoine and Miles exchange a worried glance. Navy leans in eagerly. “The, uh… the city’s being attacked,” Miles murmurs reluctantly.

Navy dashes into his room and tugs on his suit, emerging mere moments later fully geared up. “Nice talking to you again, Antoine! And congrats on the baby!” he calls back to them, waving as he clambers onto the fire escape. He drowns out the short-lived protests from Miles by launching off the metal platform and bouncing from wall to wall to reach the danger on the streets below.

The moment he perceives gunfire, he pounces. The police are on one side of the street; the threat is on the other. Sonic uses a lamppost to round the corner behind which the enemy hides. To his confusion, though, he doesn’t run fist first into a demihuman. He completely misses his target.

Then he looks up.

His target does not look down. His target is a flying robot.

He snorts with laughter, leaps and grabs the bot, and smashes it on the ground. “What, you guys couldn’t take care of one silly little drone?” he taunts the cops.

“Sonic,” one of them gasps. “Where have you been? Swarms of these things have been knocking out traffic signals and causing property damage all over the city!”

He shrugs. “I was asleep. You really can’t expect me to be awake all day when I’m on the night shift, can you? Anyway,” he digresses, planting one foot in preparation to jet, “you guys triangulate the source yet?”

The officer stammers, “W-well, no, but—”

“Gosh, I have to do everything,” Sonic groans sarcastically, then smirks at the cops. “Just focus on rounding them up, and I’ll take care of these overgrown wasps’ nest.” Without waiting for confirmation, he speeds away, leaping from one building to another to reach the rooftops.

Surprisingly, the “nest” isn’t hard to find. The last of a steady stream of wasp-bots exits a large helicopter hovering over the harbor—the least hidden location possible. However, the craft is too high for Sonic to reach. He’s going to need help. The only problem is he hates asking for help.

“I’ll do this my way,” he grumbles under his breath, sprinting toward the aircraft. He perches atop the building nearest to the helicopter and clears his throat. “Hey, queen bee!” he hollers, his tone dripping with sarcasm even at this volume. “Don’t suppose you’d be proud enough of the damage you’re causing to get a closer look?”

To his utter shock, the helicopter begins to turn. Then it moves. It speeds up. Within seconds, it’s careening straight toward him. He yelps and jumps at it, aiming for the wheels. He catches onto a ledge, clambers in, and braces for impact. Instead, the craft slows down and lands on the roof.

Sonic glances briefly around the interior before leaping back out. It’s barren, but there has to be someone in the cockpit, right? He peers into the window.

Nobody’s there. What? He frowns. The way it steered… there has to be someone inside!

A harsh noise erupts from inside. The hero winces, then darts into the helicopter to investigate. From inside, the sound is much more comprehensible; it doesn’t take long to figure out it’s evil laughter. The sudden appearance of a wannabe villain who uses robots and autopilot makes Sonic chuckle.

He laughs his heart out… right up until the helicopter doors slam shut. He spins around to find he’s still alone. But the voice in the cockpit is still there, laughing at him, taunting him. He growls.

“All right, then, tell me what you want already!” he roars, throwing his arms out to his sides.

“You’re trapped, Sonic,” the villain reminds him. “You’re in no position to be making demands.” The helicopter begins shaking as its blades speed up again. Sonic stumbles.

“Tell that to my flawless record of getting out of tight spots,” he retorts, grabbing the seats to stabilize himself.

The aircraft rises and flies back toward the harbor. It stops in the same place as before, overlooking the flying robots’ destructive rampage through the downtown streets. Hazard lights blink in the streets while ambulances and squad cars scatter every which way. Colossal crowds of curious commonfolk coagulate on corners to observe local traffic oddities and chaos. The media has just arrived, too; their helicopters hover below the mad inventor’s.

Sonic rolls his eyes. “So you cause a little chaos around the city. And? What’s the big deal? I’ll take care of you tout suite.”

The villain cackles again, his voice distorted beneath the noise. “Just how do you expect to take care of anything when you can’t escape the helicopter?”

“I can,” Sonic insists, crossing his arms. The aircraft wobbles, throwing him off balance. He swallows his pride and grabs the seats again. “I’m just choosing not to.”

“Really?” the villain taunts. “Have you even tried?”

Sonic scratches his head. “Admittedly, no. But a silly little ’copter won’t stop me and my buddy’s upgrades!”

A strained noise chokes through the speaker. “W-well, maybe so… but how will you get to land safely? The news choppers won’t make it easy and, from what I’ve heard, the great hero Sonic can’t even swim….” The villain’s mischievous, almost playful tone returns within seconds. It irks Sonic.

“Do I look unresourceful?” he snaps. “If you want to be a supervillain, here’s my advice: give up now. You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“If I want feedback, I’ll ask for it,” the villain grumbles. “Now, since you’re so set on being a nuisance, I’ll leave you to suffer alone.” A soft click cuts off the last frustrated grunt out of his mouth.

Sonic laughs. “Great. Who wants to hear from you, anyway?” He patrols the cabin, looking for parachutes, robot parts, tools, handles on the doors—anything to make his escape easier. But with no other options, he realizes he must resort to property damage.

He kicks at the doors first, even launching himself fully at each one multiple times before deciding to spare his healing body the stress and simply bust through the window headfirst. He curls into a ball on one of the chairs and launches toward the windshield. It shatters against his helmet. Moments later, he and countless shards of glass plummet toward the choppy waters below.

“Just fantastic,” he growls, his entire body squeezing in on itself like he’s on the world’s worst roller coaster—and it just broke. But a familiar whirring noise takes Sonic by surprise. He glances toward his feet just in time.

He thuds onto the wing of a biplane and latches on as it rolls to ease his landing. “Tails!” he cheers. “Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes!”

“After crashing through a helicopter’s windshield, I’d expect your brain to be more sore than your eyes,” the teen remarks, steering the plane lower.

Sonic scoffs. “Nah. Your helmet works like a charm—actually, like a helmet. All that to say it’s sick, li’l bro!”

Miles barks a laugh. “Good! But after this blows over, you’re coming into the shop for detailing.”

“Just make the face painting extra special,” Sonic quips. “Thanks for the lift, buddy, but I’ve gotta go kick some wannabe butt.”

“Go get ’em, Sonic!” Miles cheers as the hero leaps from the plane’s wing and hits the harbor ground running.

He sprints past the cookie-cutter warehouses and shipping containers on his way to obliterate more bots. Even if he could get to the root of the problem, he’d still have to deal with the spores. While he causes small explosions of heroic justice and villain-crafted shrapnel, he ponders the chain of events that could’ve created this new foe. What made him destroy things? Was it greed? Jealousy? Pure malice? Perhaps it was just boredom. The answer lies just out of reach for Sonic. He despises being out of the loop almost as much as slowing down.

Hope is just an arm’s length away, though. If he finds the villain, he can find his answer. Everyone’s complex, he figures. There’ll be more to it than “being evil for evil’s sake” or some crap like that. The moment he finds the man, he’ll have his moral code cracked like an egg.

Man, I want some eggs, Sonic thinks wistfully. He sighs. “Why’d I have to skip breakfast? Dumb robots. Stupid inventor jerk. I just want to go home….”

“Sonic!” a shrill voice shrieks from the streets ahead. The hero picks up the pace as the affected civilian screams again. “Help me!”

Sonic swoops in and carries the panicked girl to safety. He sets her upright on the next corner before darting back into action and destroying the bot. But the same voice calls his name again, still full of fear and alarm. He finishes off two more robots on his way back. When he reaches her again, he finally realizes who she is.

“Amy,” he greets, his voice quiet and awestruck. “Sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

“Bigger problems,” she hisses. “I think I’ve got a bomb on my back.”

Sonic blurts several suspicious yet incoherent syllables and zips behind her to check. There’s a red light the size of a teacup saucer stuck firmly between her shoulder blades. He picks at it, but it doesn’t give. The light blinks every couple of seconds. The hero swallows the lump in his throat.

“Go to 4th and Whittlebey,” he instructs her. “There’s an open alley with some shops. Go past three on the left; the fourth has a rust-colored awning. Go in. There’s a bunny demihuman at the counter. If anyone can disarm it, it’ll be her or Tails.”

“Is that Tails’s workshop?” she asks hurriedly. “She’s Bunnie, right?”

Sonic nods. “Yeah. Now go . You need to be there, like, five minutes ago.” He ushers her in the right direction.

“You can’t carry me?” she frets. “I’m not fast enough. If it’s a bomb, I’ll die on the way.”

He groans. “Look, I would, but… there’s kind of a nasty robot pandemic in town, so….”

“But you want to,” she exposes him.

He freezes, then sighs and hoists her into his arms again. “I’ll kick a few ro-butts on the way.”

She laughs. “Thanks. My hero.”

“Awfully chipper for a walking bomb,” he remarks as he begins to run.

“I find solace in the fact that you’re not sure it’s a bomb,” she reveals. “After all, you seem like the type to know what a bomb looks like. If you’re not sure it is one, who’s to say it’s not?”

Sonic snorts. “That makes absolutely no sense, but I admire your confidence.”

Mere seconds later, they arrive at Miles’s shop and burst through the door. Bunnie pokes her head out of the back with a face full of alarm. “Heavens to Betsy!” she exclaims, then scoffs when she sees his face. “Oh, Sonic. You’re gonna give little ol’ me a heart attack.”

“That can’t be good for the baby,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s probably an emergency, though.”

“‘Probably an emergency,’” she echoes with a certain degree of sass. “Like you got any business bustin’ them doors down on a probably .” Nonetheless, she approaches. “Lemme see, hun,” she beckons Amy.

Amy turns around to show her the light. “It might be a bomb. We’re not sure.”

Bunnie nods sagely and slips into the back for a few moments. When she returns, she’s got a flathead screwdriver. “This might hurt, but it’ll be right as rain in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail. Hold still.” She counts down for Amy, then jams the screwdriver under the light. Amy yelps, but Bunnie pries the thing off her back with ease. It clatters to the ground.

Amy rubs her back as best she can, her face contorted with pain, confusion, and a smidge of offense. Bunnie barely registers her expression; she picks up the light and examines it. “Looks like a tracker, darlin’,” she explains. “Want it back?”

“A tracker?” Sonic parrots. “First of all, how can you tell that from a glance? And more importantly, Amy, why is there a tracker on you?”

She shrugs. “Like I’d know that! I only noticed it after you ran by me the first time!”

He furrows his brow. “I didn’t just pass you by. The only time I saw you was when you screamed for me.”

“How do you know that? Aren’t you going too fast to see?”

“Nope. My senses have adapted to my speed,” he explains. “It’s almost like time slows when I run, but not quite. I just have lightning-fast reflexes and a knack for disobeying physics.” He smirks proudly, planting one hand on his hip.

Amy quirks an eyebrow. “Right. Weren’t you going to smash more robots, Mr. Lightning-Fast?”

He flinches. “Yes. That’s right. I… suppose I’m not needed here anymore.” He inches toward the door. “Um… let me know what you find out, Bunnie, won’t you?”

She salutes him. “Sure thing, sugar. I’ll keep ya posted.”

Sonic flashes a thumbs-up before disappearing through the door, leaving only a whisper of his image behind.

“Now, hun,” Bunnie pipes up again as Sonic’s footsteps fade, nodding at Amy, “let’s track down your tracker.”

Chapter Text

Sonic speeds through the streets to kick more butt. For the next hour, he destroys every evil robot in sight; after that hour, his hunger and fatigue kick his butt. But thanks to his efforts, the city has quieted significantly. With him taking care of the bots, others were able to fix the electricity grid, solve traffic issues, and save each other’s bacon.

Despite how calm the city is, something still bugs the hero. “After you ran by me the first time.” He turns the statement over in his head like a chili dog on a spit. The facts don’t align; he knows he only encountered her when he saved her. On top of that, nothing’s faster than him. Only things like jets can match his speed—and probably his boss when he’s mad. Amy clearly believed it was Sonic, so it had to be his size. What in the world…?

A sharp breeze whips past him like a flag in a storm; its bearer creates a blue streak in his vision. He narrows his eyes. That’s him—the impostor.

He rockets after him. Although the impostor is fast, he’s not too fast. Not only that, but his speed also has a stench to it; instead of sweat or burning rubber soles, the distinct smell of jet fuel oozes into his trail.

“’Sup, faker?” Sonic taunts his opponent as he catches up. Without the wind and gas fumes in his eyes, he can clearly determine what he’s up against is a robot. He smirks. “I’ve destroyed a bajillion robots today. What’s one more?” He thrusts all his strength into a spinning jump and clocks the bot in the face with his knee. As the metal man’s body screeches against the pavement, Sonic tumbles farther, rolling himself into a ball so his armored suit absorbs the brunt of the impact.

When the two finally stop moving, Sonic stands shakily. His stomach protests his every creaky move with pain and grumbling. “Whaddya say we break for lunch?” he jokes to his opponent. The robotic copycat offers no response. Sonic scoffs. “Lame. Your creator put all this effort into you but didn’t even give you a voice chip?”

The android stands and stares Sonic menacingly in the eyes. That’s when it sinks in: this isn’t just a speedy blue robot—it’s Sonic, but roboticized. And it’s… unsettling.

It’s also appropriately fast.

The metallic Sonic launches itself—or himself—at the hero, metal claws outstretched and poised for maximum carnage. One serrated claw tears through his cheek as he dodges. The robot pulls off a hairpin turn to careen toward Sonic again, but this time, the hero takes to the air.

Unsurprisingly, the copy-bot doesn’t have to follow his parkour patterns, instead using the jets in his back and feet to catch up with ease. But Sonic anticipated this. He locks hands with his metal twin and kicks at the engine in his body. His hands nearly crunch under the pressure the robot supplies in return.

“So, Metal Sonic,” the hero scoffs, “when’s your maker coming out to play instead of hiding behind his bots like a coward? Or am I mistaken—are you somebody else’s? I wouldn’t be too shocked, considering the other bots went kablooey while you’re still kickin’.”

Metal Sonic seems unimpressed. He flings Sonic to the ground.

Sonic cracks the asphalt as he lands. He chokes air back into his lungs as the robotic copy descends toward his crater. Before he can scramble to his fleet feet, the metal mirror twists his suit’s collar firmly into his fist and lifts him from the broken pavement. Sonic grasps his wrists and kicks weakly at his titanium legs. But all his movement ceases when the thing speaks .

“You… are… nothing,” comes the metallic doppelganger’s haunting voice. Sonic wishes he’d been right about the faker being mute, a shiver climbing his spine. But as bad as his simulated voice is, his words are more concerning to the hero.

Despite the sinking sensation in his stomach, Sonic smirks. “Then how come gravity affects me?” he taunts.

He promptly receives a punch to the jaw. Gravity proves its hold on him by violently introducing his ribs to the edge of the crater. He blurts out a grunt as he connects with the pavement. Metal Sonic crashes into his back feet first; a worrying cracking sound accompanies his kick.

But the moment Sonic isn’t pinned down anymore, he springs to his feet and launches his counterattack. Metal clangs against his shoes; skin is smashed between bone and titanium. The twins’ tussle becomes an all-out war in minutes. Sonic lands a firm kick on Metal Sonic’s torso, sending him backward, but the bot bounces back to sink a similarly stinging strike into the hero’s softer stomach. The rivals trade blow after blow with no signs of stopping, their battle raging through the air and around corners. It takes a few minutes for the hyper-focused Sonic to realize the familiarity of his surroundings.

The fight lulls. Sonic tends to his accessible wounds as best he can, glancing around to examine the damage around him and ensure the safety of any passersby. Metal Sonic adjusts his robotic limbs with a bloodlust unmatched by his opponent. He prepares to pounce on the unsuspecting hero.

Instead, a very suspecting stop sign pounces on him.

Sonic whips around to face his downed opponent. The robot lies in a heap, a significant dent in the back of his head. A few wires poke through a tear in the metal dome. Over the fallen enemy stands an all too familiar face. Sonic smirks.

“Amy,” he calls with feigned frustration, “I thought you were going to stay out of trouble.”

She grins and props the sign on her shoulder. “I promised no such thing.”

He saunters over. “Better start, missy. This hero stuff is no joke; you could get seriously hurt.” Although he still wears his cocky, joking grin, a hint of worry flashes across his brow.

Amy’s expression softens. “I’m fine, Sonic. I’m just… helping. Just once.” She beams unconvincingly. When she observes Sonic’s appropriately unconvinced reaction, she cracks. “Okay, fine. I just thought I could help… for a while…? Until the school gets its stuff together.”

Sonic hums uncertainly. “I like you better in one piece, you know.”

The woman smirks. “You like me, huh?”

Heat rushes to the hero’s cheeks as he rolls his eyes. “Aw, geez. What has Tails been telling you?”

“Nothing,” she defends him, confusion tainting her tone. “Why? Are we both seeing something you’re not?”

Sonic snorts. “Whatever. Let’s just dispose of this creep.” He leans over the motionless mimic and scoffs. “Cheap imitation. Let’s see you mess with me now.” He kicks his enemy’s head; a hard clang stings his ears in a final act of revenge.

“Where will you take him to get rid of him?” Amy inquires.

The hedgehog-man shrugs. “Maybe to the harbor? Though that seems a little too close to home…” he notes, trailing off. “I don’t think his creator will find him in a random alley—especially if I’m always around to guard it.” A grin grows on his face.

“You’ve got something up your sleeve,” Amy observes, shrugging her shoulders up until they touch her hair. She raises her fists to her sides and beams. “Please let me in on it!”

Sonic smirks warily at her. “Just don’t get too caught up in this sidekickery, okay?”

She nods vigorously. “As soon as they’re ready for me, I’ll be a schoolteacher again—I promise.”

He shuts his eyes trustingly. “All right. Here’s the plan….”

Chapter Text

Peace. Unparalleled peace.

Every morning, Silver goes to work. Some days douse him with rain while others are cloudless. Some days are quiet while others bring trouble. Today is wonderful.

People flood the streets in organized efforts to clean up the debris from yesterday’s scuffle. One side effect of their efforts is the distinct lack of cars on the roads. Nobody cares if he jaywalks because nobody’s there to run him over! He trots eagerly across the asphalt.

Upon reaching the store, he takes a deep breath in and smiles. The smell of leftover pastries in the warming box always gives him a boost; though he never leaves any in there overnight, some are always waiting for him in the morning. He finds comfort in the fact that, despite appearances, his boss does care.

He grabs one of the three warmed pastries and starts his shift by chowing down. As soon as the éclair he picked is gone, he throws together some ingredients to bring them to a boil. While they heat up, he combines another recipe in a stand mixer bowl and turns the machine on. Hardly a second passes before he’s already moving on to another task. Efficiency is key in a job like his. That’s why his powers come in handy.

Silver was inexplicably born with the ability to move objects with his mind. Years of practice led to masterful execution… or, at least, that’s what he’d like. He’s still clumsy from time to time, and it gets on his nerves when he drops a batch of hot sugar syrup or intricate chocolates. Telekinesis without control? No, thanks. He silently curses his butterfingered brain.

Today, his mind works like a well-oiled machine. No eggs splatter to the floor, no piles of flour end up just outside the bowls; everything lands where it’s meant to. The only problem is the coworker who utterly refuses to knock.

“Yo, Silv,” comes the ignorant intruder’s laid-back greeting. Silver slams the items in his psychic grip to their closest counters and turns to Navy with a tense grin. The hedgehog-man remains none the wiser to the younger employee’s grimace and waltzes in nonetheless. “Just came to say we’re running low on those amazing macarons… again. Hey, aren’t those, like, really hard to make? Do you need a hand?”

Silver balls up his fists. “No, I’m fine. Please knock next time.”

Navy winces. “Right. Sorry.” He sinks back through the door at a snail’s pace.

“One more thing,” Silver blurts, reaching out hesitantly. “Um… what flavor?”

Navy smiles. “All of ’em. But chocolate’s the most popular.”

Silver nods. “Got it. I’ll have some ready in a couple hours.”

The older hedgehog-man drums his fingers on the door. “Can you go any faster…?”

The boy raises his eyebrows. “Um… maybe. Is someone getting impatient out there, or is it just you?” Unable to resist the tug at the corner of his mouth, he smirks.

Navy scoffs. “I’ll have you know I can be very patient,” he argues, a hint of a smile showing beneath his feigned offense. He chuckles, but his tone shifts the instant he speaks again. “But seriously, there’s a really huffy lady out there who might just have a meltdown if she doesn’t get a macaron.”

Silver snorts. “Okay, then. I’m on it.” He shows Navy a thumbs-up and turns back to his mixing bowls.

Navy grins and exits, but the moment Silver revs up his telekinesis again, the door bursts open once more. “By the way,” Navy blurts as Silver dives for the bottle of vanilla extract he’d just lifted from the opposite side of the room, “how do you get so much done at once? It’s miraculous.”

Silver shrugs as best he can from his position on the floor, the vanilla sloshing as his arms move. “Uh… miracles, I guess.”

Navy laughs. “Right. Okay, actually leaving now.”

“Remember to knock!” Silver reminds him again as he disappears through the door. With a heavy sigh, he rises, then pours the vanilla into the proper mixing bowl by hand. After a few more cautious seconds, he activates his telekinesis once more and hums with satisfaction as his production speed picks up.

Thanks to his powers, the macarons finish baking in around twenty-five minutes, and he pipes the filling in just under one. It’s not his finest, most precise work, but he learns from sampling the single cracked cookie that it’s more than delicious enough. He just hopes it’s good enough for Miss Meltdown.

He sends the sweets out. Shortly after Navy places them, Silver hears a squeal of delight and breathes a sigh of relief. Miss Meltdown is overjoyed—maybe her nickname should be Miss Melted instead. Her reaction warms the chef to his core.

As he prepares another batch of macarons alongside everything else, he falls into something of a trance. The gentle, poppy music subtly cutting through the whirring of machinery bounces to the rhythm in Silver’s chest; he can’t help but dance along like nobody’s watching. And nobody is… right? He glances around every so often just to be sure, but after a few attempts at catching any nosy hedgehog-men—as a totally random example, of course—he shuts his eyes and smiles, letting the flow take control of his limbs.

As the song ends and his dance slows to a halt, applause jolts him back to reality. One pair of hands at the back of the kitchen claps for him, the attached person smirking with amusement at the shocked expression on Silver’s face. The younger demihuman’s cheeks flush as his limbs stiffen.

“Sh-Shadow!” he yelps. “You…!”

The dark demihuman grins mischievously at him. “Yes, I was watching—for most of the song, in fact. You’ve got moves, kid.”

Cheeks burning, Silver murmurs incoherent words of thanks. He buries a hand in his hair to scratch furiously at his scalp.

“You’ve gotten better with your powers,” Shadow remarks, glancing around at the various utensils in the air. He catches a drip of brownie batter from a passing spatula on one finger and licks it off, raising his eyebrows at the rich taste.

Silver sighs. “Not really. Not yet.”

Shadow barks a barely amused laugh. “Trust me, kid,” he scoffs, “you’re doing great.”

The chef sighs and leans on a counter, winding down his telekinesis-fueled production bit by bit. “Like you’d know.” He lets his head hang low until he feels a stretch in his neck. “I’ve never heard of anyone real being telekinetic.”

Shadow grunts his agreement. “While you’re correct, it’s not as though I was born yesterday. My understanding of the mental gymnastics required to achieve what you do daily is, to the ordinary mind, unfathomable. Luckily for both of us, we possess minds that are beyond ordinary.”

Silver chuckles at the older demihuman’s monologue. “How long did you practice that one?”

“Improv has no rehearsals,” he proclaims, a proud smirk on his face as he leans against a counter, arms crossed. “Anyway, I was right, you know. You’re not an ordinary kid. You earned my trust, after all.”

“All I did was bake,” Silver scoffs. “And your kid liked my croissants.”

Shadow grins fondly at the mention of his daughter. “And that’s why I trust you.”

Silver laughs. “Right. Nothing to do with the fact that you know I’m not stupid enough to try stealing from you.”

“I never said that,” Shadow corrects. “But it’s mostly the croissants.”

A light chuckle escapes Silver’s throat again. “Noted. I’ll make extra for you two.” He sticks a whisk into the bag of flour beside him as if preparing to make the bread.

His boss sighs. “As much as I…” he trails off, tapping the counter thoughtfully before selecting a word, “enjoy these pleasantries, there’s a pressing matter I have to attend to. Deciding this has been a turbulent process, but… well, you work too much. But I have just the thing to fix that.”

Silver winces. “Firing me…?” he squeaks out, his heart cracking just a little.

Shadow snorts. “No. I have to pick up a machine from an old… friend. It’ll take a day or so. I’m having a babysitter come in soon, so don’t worry about my little girl. By this time tomorrow, your pastries will never stale again.”

Silver’s black-rimmed eyes widen. “Wait, serious– for real? And you’re sure this machine works?”

“While it’s natural to doubt, I’d prefer if you put more trust in my contacts,” Shadow rumbles, the semblance of a smile now wiped from his face. “I’ve seen far more than even you can fathom, and my trust is not easily gained.”

“Except by croissants, of course.”

Shadow raises an eyebrow.

Silver wipes the tiny smirk from his face and folds his hands.

“This mechanic is the best of the best—better even than Navy’s little friend. It’s just a shame she lives so far away,” he explains curtly, furrowing his brow.

Silver hums his understanding, inadvertently matching the tune of the song playing faintly in the background. “She’ll miss you—your daughter, I mean.”

Shadow smirks. “You’ll miss me, too, won’t you?”

Silver laughs. “I might. She matters more, though.”

“Don’t discount your own emotions, Silver,” Shadow tuts sagely. “But in this case, you’re right. She’s the most important thing in the world to me.” Even though his lips and eyes hardly move, his expression warms.

“But your mind’s made up?” Silver recalls. “You’re still going to leave for a whole day?”

Shadow sighs. “Yes. I have to care for more than just a kid; I have a business. It’s my duty to ensure you don’t overwork yourself—”

“I can ensure that just fine,” Silver chuckles.

That dark eyebrow rises again. “You’ve clocked over eighty hours this week.”

Silver avoids his boss’s eyes. “I… that’s not illegal. Some people work, I dunno, a hundred every week.”

“Those people are probably depressed and have no personal lives.”

The light-haired boy recoils in defeat, but the older hedgehog-man isn’t done.

“Listen, kid. You’re seventeen, you have five siblings, and you’ve been blessed with telekinetic powers. There is more to life than baking bread and macarons all day—even if they’re astonishingly delicious macarons. The point is this: you don’t take enough care of yourself when you’re too busy trying to satisfy others.” He squeezes his hands into fists. “Besides, it’s only Friday. That’ll be over one hundred hours by the end of the week—if I allow you to work on Saturday.”

Silver winces. It’s the reality check he never wanted, but the one his siblings needed him to have. He sighs. “Well, I’ll need to prepare if your machine’s going to help me take a break, won’t I?” he challenges, staring his boss innocently in the eyes.

Shadow’s scowl falters, then breaks into the biggest eye roll the young demihuman has ever seen. He growls and thrusts a finger in his employee’s face. “Don’t overwork yourself,” he hisses through his teeth, “or I’ll make sure you can’t.”

The young chef salutes nervously. “Aye-aye,” he sputters. He leans against the counter again as Shadow backs off.

“Be responsible,” Shadow reminds him, reaching for the back door’s handle. He doesn’t wait for a reply.

Silver watches the door for a moment before picking up where he left off in his work. Mixers whir to life and dough kneads itself; spatulas scrape batter from bowls into pans in dollops or thirds while egg yolks separate from whites like opposing magnets; butter rubs itself on pans, followed promptly by dustings of flour. Silver surveys his work with a twinkle of hubris in his gaze. He then spills custard on the stovetop. It takes a mountain of restraint not to dump the rest in his rage.

Maybe Shadow’s right, he considers, a great internal sigh causing his shoulders to slump. Maybe I’m overworked already. I’m crabby and depressed. He pauses for a moment, briefly forgetting to stir the custard. He jolts back to reality with another thought: I’m going home early today.

As the day wears on, Silver wears down. Ever since he decided he was exhausted, he began feeling it more by the minute. While he had been tackling up to ten recipes at once in the morning, afternoon bears only three simultaneous batches. Sure, they all require more focus, but that speed—or lack thereof—still isn’t up to par to him. But the fact that the machine won’t arrive until tomorrow gives him another excuse to be slower.

When late afternoon rolls around, he pokes his head out to say goodbye to whoever’s manning the register before clocking out. His feet drag and his eyelids droop as he trudges back through the kitchen; it’s as though his body took Shadow’s threat more seriously than his brain did.

But as he exits through the back door, fumbling with the keys to lock it behind him, he spots something odd. That wasn’t there when I came in this morning, he slowly realizes, peering curiously at the shiny remnants poking out of the dumpster. He lifts the lid to reveal a robot that looks… strangely familiar.

His heart thuds with an emotion he can’t identify. Fear? No. Longing? Doesn’t sound right. Joy? Not quite. But when his body moves on its own, he figures it out: opportunistic outrage. How could someone throw away a perfectly good robot exoskeleton? Luckily, Silver’s always been thrifty—and it doesn’t get thriftier than dumpster diving! Plus, nobody else he knows has a secondhand robot!

He removes it from the garbage with his telekinesis, then places it gently into his hands. He’s floored by its weight—literally ; he crashes to the ground before he realizes he can prop it against the dumpster. His first thought is that it’s sturdy despite being a little damaged and… well, out of order. His second is alarmed and calls on his barely extant brain-compass to lead him to the nearest mechanic’s shop. But instead of the expected result—a massive brain fart and disappointment for the foreseeable future—he actually receives a response from that unreliable brain map.

Navy told him about his little friend, Tails, a few months back. He’d started off by barging in, of course; that was the closest call yet, and Silver never forgot the heart attack he suffered that day. Thanks to that, the young mechanic became a dot on his map of squiggles. Sure, the location still isn’t clear to Silver, but a name is better than nothing. He can always ask around—or ask the Internet—for the address, and that’s far better than floundering cluelessly… even if he’s asocial.

As he’s about to set out, he pauses. Everyday folk won’t take kindly to a menacing-looking robot on their freshly menacing-looking robot-free streets. If he’s going to take the bot across town, he’ll need to keep it hidden. He stares contemplatively at it.

He sighs. He’s unsure of the range of his powers, but there’s no time like the present to find out. With a deep breath, he lifts the metal body and… hurls it into the sky.

He strolls casually from the alley, his hand faintly glowing from the use of his telekinesis. His chest squeezes uncomfortably every time he approaches a passerby to inquire about Tails’s shop. He hopes no one notices the blue light… or how painfully awkward he is.

Eventually, his efforts pay off, and he receives clear directions to Tails’s workshop. He navigates the streets while helping his new metal friend navigate the clouds. The directions he received lead him down a one-way alley; he struggles to keep his focus on both his footing and his airborne burden. When he reaches the shop’s door, he pauses, glances briefly at his surroundings, and cautiously lowers the bot. Much to his lungs’ relief, he lets out a breath. He shoulders the decommissioned bot with minimal help from his telekinesis and laboriously approaches the door.

The moment he opens it, he trips, crashing to the floor with a yelp. Someone inside echoes the cry. He glances up at her face and pauses. A tiny chuckle builds in his throat. She’s definitely not Tails. As he gulps back his laughter, a hint of anxiety creeps in and expands like yeast-filled dough.

Am I somehow in the wrong place?

Chapter Text

“S-sorry for dropping in so… gracefully,” Silver quips in a desperate attempt to salvage the encounter. The woman behind the service desk snickers. He continues, standing up and brushing himself off. “This is Tails’s place, right?”

“That’s right, darlin’,” she drawls, rising to her feet and rounding the counter. “You’re a customer, right? And who might your friend here be?”

Silver glances behind himself briefly before realizing who she was referring to. He gasps and picks the metal body off the floor. “Oh! This is just a bot I found in the trash. I figured, hey, it’s in pretty good shape. Why not salvage it?” He explains, his voice and grin growing stronger and more confident as he speaks. He leans nonchalantly on the bot. “But I’m not a big tech guy, so I thought I’d leave it to the professionals—and maybe get a new ro-butler while I’m at it.”

The rabbit-woman chuckles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, then, hun. Tails’ll get a kick out of this one.” She turns her back to Silver for a moment. He watches her hands nervously, but as he does, he glimpses her belly. It’s subtle, but Silver can always tell when there’s a bun in the oven. But for fear of being rude, he doesn’t mention the baby bump.

The door slams open behind Silver. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” a panicked person pants. She stumbles through the door, nearly crashing into the teen. Her mouth opens, either to apologize or make an excuse, but no sound comes out. She completely freezes, eyes locked on Silver.

He blinks back; as he stares, her cheeks gradually become more flushed and her expression more frantic. The only sign of consciousness in the girl comes when Bunnie clears her throat.

“Come get your nametag from the back, Blaze,” she beckons the new arrival.

In that instant, Blaze snaps to attention, her skin’s hue returning to normal and her eyes to a calmer state. She marches dutifully to the back, grabs her nametag, and emerges a moment later more stoic than ever. She folds her hands in front of herself and bows slightly, studying the floor. “Apologies for my belatedness, ma’am,” she proclaims properly. “What is my task for today?”

Bunnie smirks. “Well, I oughta drive that sense of urgency for work in ya, hmm? So let’s have you work on your people skills today. That sound good, hun?”

Blaze’s lilac cat ears twitch back, betraying her irritation. “I… suppose.”

Bunnie grins and hands her something. “Good luck, then. I’m gonna check in on our little mechanic.”

“B-but—!” Blaze blurts, reaching out for the rabbit-woman as she mosies away. Whatever was in her hands lands on the desk.

The addressed throws a mischievous glance over her shoulder, uttering a knowing, drawn-out “Hmmm?” in response.

Blaze grits her teeth; Silver can see her jaw clenching. “I require… a review.”

Bunnie turns around and leans on the desk. “Pop quiz: how do you greet a customer?” She gestures exaggeratedly at Silver.

Blaze tenses up and turns to the waiting hedgehog-boy. “G-greetings!” Silver waits for her to say more, but she’s frozen again. He waits patiently, but after only a few seconds—incredible for him, mind—of patience, he glances at the ice cube’s coworker.

The rabbit-woman shakes her head. “And what do you say about our services…?”

“W-we…” the lilac-haired girl continues shakily, “we fix st-stuff….”

Silver chuckles. “Good thing I came here, then.”

Blaze hangs her head, biting her lip.

“This guy here is in desperate need of fixing… and I guess the robot could use some tuning up, too,” he quips.

The shy employee’s face contorts until she breaks into a smile. She steadies herself on the edge of the desk while silent giggles wrack her body. That’s when Bunnie scoots the thing she’d handed Blaze earlier—a clipboard, Silver learns—back toward the girl. As her laughter calms, she takes a deep breath, grabs the clipboard, and turns toward Silver.

“So… your robot needs repairs?” she echoes, her painted fingernails standing out against her fingertips’ display of an iron grip.

Silver nods awkwardly. On the outside, he’s stationary, even collected. On the inside, however, his anxiety rages in a rolling boil. Was the joke not really that funny? Maybe she just laughed out of pity. Why’d she calm down so fast? Or… wait, was that a normal amount of time to laugh at a stranger’s joke? Am I overthinking this? For goodness’s sake… she’s probably feeling awkward enough without my oversized existence stealing air and clogging space. I should just drop the bot and go.

After a few tense seconds, Blaze steps forward like she’s being pushed by an invisible threat. She extends the clipboard toward Silver. “If you put your name and contact information down, we will be sure to contact you when the job is finished. And you may write a brief description of your… unit below that, if you’d like.”

Silver reaches back and forth between the clipboard and the robot he’s struggling to hold with one arm, but before he gets the chance to make up his mind, another door opens. A figure of significantly shorter stature peeks out, then perks up. His eyes light up as he fully emerges and approaches Silver.

It takes the hedgehog-boy a few seconds to realize a few crucial details about the fox-boy: firstly, that he’s coming for the robot and not him; secondly, that he’s covered in grease and likely doesn’t care; and finally, that he’s definitely Tails—he certainly does have two of them—and he’s the owner of this shop at his tender age. Silver can’t help but raise his eyebrows in awe.

Tails reaches out, but one of his fingers just barely brushes the robot before he jolts back, glancing at Silver with both pleading and apology in his eyes. When Silver shifts to move it closer and nods, Tails’s expression returns to that shining wonder, this time with more than a hint of gratefulness. He hoists the robot up, but it’s too heavy even for his practiced arms—and not to mention significantly taller than him. To Silver’s relief, though, Bunnie steps in to help. In a moment, the two—rather, three—have disappeared into the room from which Tails came.

City-silence fills the air, its unique buzz doing nothing to ease the awkwardness it embraces. Silver takes the clipboard once he’s finally come to his senses. He gazes over it, mildly focused and mostly distracted as he mentally surveys the life of the miniature mechanic. His excitement over a single humanoid droid, his grease-covered clothes—a visual portrayal of his passion for his craft, and his reluctance to appear before other demi-humans all point to the kind of devoted genius Silver doesn’t dare wish to be. He absently scratches his name into the paper with a sigh. He’s passionate about baking, but… sometimes he feels wrong for loving it as much as he does.

Now less blurry, his eyes skim the page once more. He recalls a few unique quirks about the relinquished robot and jots them down, then scribbles his phone number in a box at the bottom. Another sweep over the page and his eyes grow tired of its bland surface. His work with it is done, anyway. He makes eye contact with Blaze immediately upon lifting his eyes and instantly diverts his gaze. After all, why should he make her feel more awkward by staring? He hands her the clipboard and backs away an extra step.

“Thank you,” she manages to squeak through her anxiety-swollen throat. She quickly fills in the rest of the boxes while Silver, unsure of what to do, stands awkwardly by the door.

“Should I just… come back later?” he asks, wringing his hands.

Blaze glances up and blinks at him. “Well… unless you want to help me practice, yes.”

“Practice what?”

She sighs. “Interacting with customers. You’d just have to pretend to be a different one.”

He straightens. Home doesn’t sound bad, but the environment of this place isn’t terrible, either. Aside from that, Blaze seems nice… and her performance could definitely use some work. He smiles; this could lead to a new friend if he’s lucky!

“Of course I’ll help!” he replies enthusiastically—too enthusiastically, he decides upon reflection. “I-I mean, uh… I’d be happy to. I’m not busy.”

She lowers her head, smiling at the floor in shy, quiet thanks. “Just… go out the door and come back in, okay?”

He nods and slips out. He takes a deep breath and counts to five before poking his head in again. The girl is gone. Perplexed, he steps inside. The door’s bell rings as he opens it wider to enter, and on cue, Blaze reappears with a forced grin that looks more like a grimace.

“Welcome,” she chokes out. “What can I do for you?”

Silver pauses momentarily, then clears his throat. “I’m here to get my, uh… toaster fixed,” he proclaims, feigning holding the item in question. “It seems to have forgotten how to toast.”

Blaze snickers lightly, then grabs the form Silver filled out earlier. “No problem. You can set your toaster on that tray—” she gestures to a wheeled cart Silver hadn’t previously noticed— “and we’ll take it from there. You’ll have to sign this intake form—okay, hold on a moment,” she interrupts herself, massaging her brow.

Silver flinches. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t disconnect your face from… you. I’d need someone else to practice on.” She sighs, this time even more dramatic than the last. “It’s the same with Bunnie. I can’t pretend she’s not her.”

The hedgehog-boy hums thoughtfully. “I could bring my siblings over sometime,” he offers. “They’re pretty young, though. And… the oldest likes to flirt with girls, so… maybe you wouldn’t like that.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Wait, how old…?”

Silver grimaces. “Thirteen.”

Blaze cringes. “I wouldn’t prefer that, you’re right. But…” she groans and drags her hands down her face, dreading her next statement, “all types of customers will come here. I need all the practice dealing with them I can get.”

“Wait,” Silver blurts. “What are you like outside of work?”

Her ears stand up, then droop as she steers her vision to the wall. “I’m… not very social. I usually ignore people when I do see them, but it’s uncommon for me to encounter many—especially ones who’d go out of their way to talk to me.”

“What about your friends, then?”

Her ears turn back. One of them flicks.

Silver winces. “Then… family?”

She shakes her head. “Not very… present.”

“Do they still drag you along to functions and crap?”

She scoffs. “To my everlasting disdain.”

“Treat customers like those weird uncles you only see every two years, then,” he suggests. Upon receiving an odd stare from the girl before him, he backpedals. “I-I don’t really know. I don’t work with customers. I pretty much only see my siblings, guardian, boss, and coworkers.” He sighs, then gasps. “Oh, but I had to ask for directions today! The guy kinda looked like this one coworker of mine, Sam. It wasn’t that hard to speak once I realized that. And when I met Bunnie—doesn’t she just look super trustworthy?”

Blaze’s expression settles into a grin. “She does,” she agrees.

Silver sets down the invisible toaster he’d feigned holding for the past few minutes before wringing his hands again. “Sorry. Don’t get me started; I’ll talk all day.”

“Sounds like you’re a little lonely, too.”

An odd lump rises in Silver’s throat at the same time as his stomach swirls. “I… I am,” he murmurs.

Blaze’s eyes soften. “Let’s be friends…” she glances at his signature before continuing, “Silver.”

Chapter Text

Silver presses the door shut with his upper back and inhales through his nose. The soft, familiar scent of clean laundry welcomes him back to the apartment long before his family does. A wave of relief washes over him; he’s happy to be home. But with that calm comes a quiet, far-off rumbling. It’s always a little uneasy here.

He wanders farther in, taking slow, deliberate steps to avoid bumping any chips off shoulders. It’s already dusk; he’d planned to be back by six. Nevertheless, he’s home early. While he’d hoped for that to be a welcome surprise, the air is heavy with bad vibes. And despite his efforts, Silver can’t lift the air.

Before he can react, his guardian, Lucky, storms out of the hallway and nearly slams into him. She freezes, blinks, and looks him over with her eyebrows twisted like a pretzel. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he replies, his tone dripping with sass. “How was your day?”

“Frustrating,” she grumbles, rubbing her temples. When he’d met her, she’d barely emerged from her teenage years—and she looked the part, too. Now, at thirty-three, she’s been dealing with Silver’s energetic siblings long enough to look ten years older.

“Kids won’t listen?” Silver guesses, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She sighs. “Yep. As usual.”

“Did you try the trick?”

She raises her eyebrow, her exhausted eyelids lifting slightly. “What trick?”

Silver can’t hold back his lopsided smirk. “Asking nicely.”

She scoffs. “Okay, mister,” she begins to scold him. “That’s enough sass out of you. What happened to cause that, huh?”

He snickers. “If I had to guess, I’d say the cause was my birth,” he jests.

“Ugh,” she howls. “Wow. You’re the worst.”

He beams and cups his face in his hands. “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

She snorts laughing. “Okay, seriously. What’s got you in such a goofy mood?”

“I made a friend today,” he murmurs to the floor, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Lucky’s golden ears perk up. “You got out of that kitchen and actually talked to someone?”

He nods, his smile growing. “I had to run an errand. She was an employee at my destination.”

His explanation is met with a smirk. “Oh, she? You didn’t mention she was a girl-friend,” Lucky teases.

Silver rolls his eyes. “The only reason I ever did was because I thought you’d be cool about it,” he grumbles, but the grin remains stuck on his face.

The woman elbows him mischievously. “Don’t tell Marbles. He’ll have a fit.”

“She’s seriously not my girlfriend,” Silver hisses, suddenly nervous. The thirteen-year-old boy has elephant ears and vendettas against any sibling of his stupid enough to fall in love. “And he’s got serious issues. Have you talked to him about therapy yet…?”

Lucky quirks an eyebrow. “That was your job.”

Silver resists the urge to drag his nails down his face. Instead, he sighs, the weight of the initial bad vibes settling on his drooping shoulders again. He slinks into the kitchen and grabs some leftovers—he’s honestly not sure what these particular nuggets are—and pops them into the microwave.

His guardian senses his bad mood. “Did I say something to offend you?” Before waiting for a response, though, she begins to explain herself. “You know he doesn’t listen to me. But you—you’re his big brother, and he loves you way more than me. I thought we both understood that.”

Silver rubs his eyes. “Yeah, no, I get it. I just thought it’d be easier for you since I’m never home.”

Lucky deflates. “I… wasn’t ready for parenthood, let alone… this.”

The teen’s chest tightens. Every time Lucky gets upset, snarky, loud, or avoidant, it’s a sign that she’s overwhelmed. This responsibility was hurled onto her back suddenly when she was a college student; she had to drop her degree because of Silver’s parents’ wills. But if she expected things to get easier without medical school, she learned fast how wrong she was. At the time, Silver’s youngest sister, Kali, was only an infant. Even if she'd arrived alone, it would've left Lucky with no extra time for friends, school, or work. The makeshift family almost went under.

Silver can’t remember what happened to keep them afloat. All he knows is that Lucky stuck around, despite frustration and difficulty. He’s grateful. But even though she’s tried desperately, she never has been and never will be his mom.

It’s not anything against her—he really only views her as an older sister. The fact that he met her when his mom was alive and when Lucky was young must’ve ruined the illusion. Silver doesn’t resent her for any of it, but her… style of parenting is drastically different from the one he grew up with for eleven years, and he doesn’t agree with her approach to coercion.

“Are you going to work even earlier tomorrow?” Lucky inquires as Silver retrieves his food from the microwave.

He shakes his head. “No, just the usual time.”

“Good,” she hums. “But your siblings want to have breakfast with you. Think you can leave a little later?”

He searches the ceiling for an answer, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I can manage. I just need to be there in the afternoon unless something’s out of stock before then.”

She waves his subtle worry away. “They’ll be busy with school after breakfast anyway. Just head out after we all eat together.”

“And give you some peace and quiet, right?” Silver adds with a snort. “Sure thing.”

Lucky taps her knuckles against his arm playfully. “Stop it, you little brat. I didn’t say that.” She quickly yanks him into a headlock and ruffles his coarse hair.

He laughs. “Okay, okay! Ease up!”

The golden guardian releases him and marches toward the other end of the apartment. Silver sits down with his meal and scarfs down a few bites in preparation for the inevitable flood of children coming his way; unfortunately, the food’s too good to not savor, and his throat comes to the same conclusion. When his siblings arrive in the room, he’s still choking down his first bite with a mouthful ready to come after it.

He spends time with his family, smiling and playing with them until they must go to bed. Even Lucky turns in before long, leaving the wide-awake Silver alone with his thoughts. He stares up at the ceiling and reflects on his day. From the cooking frenzy to the robot carry-athon, he can find plenty of reasons to be exhausted. But even with these convincing arguments swirling around in his head, he still can’t persuade his eyes to shut.

Then, when he’s about to get up in resignation, his phone buzzes. He lifts it from his pocket and blinks. An unknown number? He unlocks the phone and navigates to the message.

It’s Blaze.

His insides twist with an emotion he can’t place. She must’ve added his number to her phone, solidifying their friendship in both their minds and the cloud. He gets carried away wondering what his contact name is in her phone—maybe “Awkward Customer,” “New Friend,” or just “Silver”—and forgets to read her message. Eventually, he snaps to attention as his phone screen dims. He forces his eyes to slow their darting and read properly.

She begins with an introduction to inform him of who’s texting. Then, as if they’ve known each other for more than twenty minutes, she extends an invitation. “Five blocks south from the mechanic shop is a dance studio,” she describes. “I go there every day before work. My shift starts at five in the afternoon. I’m usually at the studio starting at seven, though. If you’d like to join me sometime, I’d be happy to chat while I train.”

His throat feels empty and light as his stomach flutters; he’s shocked to find what a pleasant sensation it is. To know his new friend dances makes him unbelievably excited. If she’s a total nerd about all types of dance, maybe she’ll be able to pinpoint where his came from. His guess, however, is that she’s just into ballet.

Whatever the case, he’s more eager than ever to start his day tomorrow. After breakfast, he’ll go straight to the studio.

Chapter Text

Navy’s new morning routine makes him feel healthy. After a few hours of sleep, he brews a nice pot of coffee and drinks it while he prepares toast with jam. Upon finishing, he steps outside and walks to the candy store, where he checks on the business, any staff or lack thereof, various products’ stock, and the robot in the dumpster just outside. It feels important, productive, even heroic .

Today, he does not feel heroic. He feels very, very stressed.

The robot is gone.

It’s not a matter of trash day—that’s tomorrow, and Navy had planned to pick up the robot before the deadline. He doubts someone would’ve removed it, since plenty of robots were thrown out in the aftermath. He even checks the nearest recycling bins in case someone decided it belonged there instead, but his search only earns him a slice on his finger from a can lid and a deeper sense of dread.

The next possibility in his mind is terrifying: what if that devious doppelgänger reactivated himself and simply walked away ?

But then again, no panicked screams or breaking news have reached Navy’s ears. Maybe everything’s fine.

… But then again again , he’s not convinced. He strolls casually into the sweets shop and sneaks into the staff room. If anyone would know about a zom-bot roaming the alleys, it’d be Silver. He pokes his head into the kitchen and calls his name.

To his distress, the chef—the same guy who practically lives in the kitchen—is nowhere to be found. No fresh cakes wait upon counters to be frosted nor do brownies bake away in the oven. The place is like a ghost town. The absence of heat from the ovens sends a chill up Navy’s spine.

He darts back out to the public area and inquires about familiar faces. The friendly coworker at the counter denies seeing any of the named individuals. Frustrated, flustered, short on breath, and confused, Navy heads to the one guy he’d genuinely call a tech know-it-all as a compliment.

Unfortunately, heading “directly” to a person is difficult when you haven’t seen that person in around twenty hours. Between Sonic’s patrols, Miles’s mechanic work, and Navy’s alarm-snoozing prowess, the brothers haven’t shared a conversation—let alone a glance—since midday yesterday. Unless Miles is immersed in a passion project—or snoring over it—he usually bids farewell to Navy and the quiet apartment. Thus, Navy figures he’s still at his workshop.

While he’d intended to stroll over to the shop, his urgency quickens his pace. His secret identity is important, of course, but the fate of the city is even more so. Nevertheless, he tames his speed and whips around the corners at a marathon runner’s pace. Very casual.

He bursts into the shop without warning or heed and stumbles past a very concerned trio of blurry figures. The idea to ask them if anyone brought in a doppelgänger droid briefly skitters across his mind, but he loses it in the panic. He makes a beeline for Miles’s special workroom—a glorified closet in the back of the larger shop area where he works on surprises, passion projects, and things he doesn’t want others to tamper with. If the robot’s in the building, the Prower Cave is where it’ll be.

Navy practically tears down the door. Just as he’d feared, his nonorganic nemesis sits deactivated on the desk in front of the frazzled fox-boy. Miles has bags under his wide and twinkling eyes.

“Navy!” he greets, more animated than any exhausted person should be. “I’ve been hoping you’d come—you’re just in time!” Smiling, he reaches for a switch behind a panel on Metal Sonic’s side. Before Navy can stop him, Miles flips it.

The robot beeps. His eyes flicker red. Navy grunts and launches himself at him, but he’s too late. In the blink of an eye, Navy’s back hits the wall on the other side of the garage, narrowly missing an array of tools on small hooks. Miles follows of his own accord, leaving the metal menace to go on his rampage. By the time Navy gets his breath back, though, Miles has already gathered up a crowbar for defense and a blowtorch for the extra firepower.

“What’re you gonna do with that, weld him to the wall?” Navy teases, standing and cracking his neck. “I like your style, li’l bro.”

Miles just growls in response, his eyes fixed ferociously on the fiend. Navy gets it; he doesn’t know what to say through his anger. After all, it’s not everyday a robot you labored over for hours on end turns on you and throws your roommate like a dirty sock. And it’s not like Navy would argue with that rage, anyway.

He springs off the smooth concrete and flies at his cobalt copy with a spin-kick. The kick connects with his face, sending him toward the front entrance. Navy’s chest clenches. Bunnie and the others out there are at serious risk—and they don’t even know it. He prays the robot won’t turn on them instead.

To his immense relief, he doesn’t. But he can’t let out the breath he was holding due to the metal claw around his throat. He and the robot are now careening through the streets, Navy supported by nothing but the iron grip around his neck. Seconds feel like torturous minutes; he doesn’t know how long they’ve been flying, how far they are from the shop, how many people can see them… anything. He doesn’t care, either. He just doesn’t want to be strangled above the city.

Metal Sonic drags him higher, higher into the sky. Navy feels cloud crystals scratching against his face before long, cold air doing nothing to ease the nipping pain or the darkness in his vision. This shouldn’t be happening. He can’t be blacking out.

I can’t afford to lose. I just… can’t lose.

Despite his kicking, flailing, insisting, clawing— all his efforts—he can’t get away. He’s stuck far away from everyone. His only hope now is a commercial airplane destroying his enemy… and his legs along with him.

His vision fades. His lungs burn and stop trying to take in air. His arms and legs go limp. He’s done trying.

That’s when the second option comes to his rescue. And it’s a doozy.

Chapter Text

One moment, Navy had given up, closed his eyes, and let himself go.

The next, he’s breathless but breathing, barely seeing anything but white, and falling through the sky as fast as he can run.

Above him but closer to his feet, a battle rages. It’s not much of a competition, though; the avenging angel simply swings her sledgehammer and sends the metal menace flying, sparks darting from his dome. Seconds later, she’s falling with Navy. Amy Rosenfeld grins at her admirer with a confidence unmatched by any Navy’s witnessed before. But then, she raises her eyebrows, and he realizes she’s actually just super cocky. Even so, her smile is infectious.

“Are you Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Navy blubbers as she scoops him up and slows their descent.

“What?” she blurts, adrenaline and confusion causing a giggle to rise in her throat.

He puts his arm around her to ease the strain his weight puts on her, trying not to smirk all the while. “Because I’m pretty sure you were my only hope back there.”

She snorts, then chuckles, then bursts into a full-bodied laugh. She laughs all the way from the clouds to the ground, and when Navy’s feet touch down, Amy wipes a tear from her eye. “It wasn’t that funny,” she claims, giggling into her hands. “It just caught me off guard.”

“You caught me off guard, too,” Navy admits sheepishly. “Can’t believe I let him get the better of me like that.”

Amy harrumphs, a hint of hubris in her expression. “Let’s see him get the better of the sea floor,” she taunts.

Navy chuckles. “Y’know, I can’t quite wrap my head around how you got the better of the sky,” he mentions, failing to sound nonchalant and unphased.

Amy directs him to her shoes. “Cool invention. This girl gave them to me when she saw me with the hammer.” She detaches the devices from her soles and shows them to him. A glowing crystal is embedded in each platform. Navy assumes that’s the power source. How it’s connected to its insane flight abilities, though, is beyond him.

Navy takes one and turns it over in his hand. “Hm. You said some girl gave you this?”

She nods. “Yep. I didn’t recognize her. She had a big brown tail.”

“Think she made these herself?” he wonders aloud, peering into a seam. “I don’t want to take this apart or give it to Tails unless we’ve got permission.”

“Consider that permission granted,” a strongly accented voice crows, its natural volume enough to make Navy’s ears cringe. He turns to see the source, and as he does, he nearly falls over. The young teen already has her hand thrusted in Navy’s personal space. “Marine Sjöblom, at your service,” she introduces herself proudly.

“You made these yourself?” Navy asks warily, shaking her hand with more caution than is probably due.

“That I did,” she proclaims, her fists stuck to her hips and her nose in the air.

Navy quirks an eyebrow at Amy and receives a chastising smirk in return. He sighs and hands one of the sole attachments back to Marine. “They’re pretty cool. Saved my life for sure,” he praises them, but his tone is uneasy. “But they don’t look as sturdy as they could be. If you want, I could recommend a guy—”

She crosses her arms and huffs, her eyes shut in disinterest. “No way. These are mine to tinker with. I won’t have one of your mates touching it; how can I trust he’ll know what he’s doing?”

Navy chuckles, half frustrated and half amused. “He’d gladly hire you, I’m sure. You’re pretty handy and super talkative, so I’m sure you’d be a great fit.”

She opens one of her eyes. A twinkle of eagerness shines in it. “Hire me?”

Amy exchanges a glance with Navy, her cheeks puffing up as she beams. He can practically read her mind: That’s perfect! He nods at the young teen, gestures for her to follow, and begins walking up the street. “No time to waste, then. Let’s get going.”

Marine lets herself dance off her excitement after Navy turns his back. She then darts after him alongside Amy, who returns the remaining sole. The girl places the invention in her bag and speeds up when she notices she’s falling behind. She can barely contain herself as they near the shop.

The moment they step foot in the open garage, Marine squeals in delight and sprints over to the first mechanical masterpiece she lays eyes on: Miles’s biplane, the Tornado. “This thing’s incredible!” she exclaims, running her hand down one wing. “Can I fly—”

In the blink of an eye, Miles appears and pushes her away from it, his eyes sharp and his posture defensive. Marine blinks at him, confused and offended; she stares directly in his eyes. He quickly shifts his gaze to study her shoes.

Navy puts a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, probably should’ve warned you: he’s super protective of his stuff. Even if it’s not his, he’s still pretty particular about it. Just takes his job really seriously, y’know?” As Navy speaks, the mechanic boy’s ears lie flatter against his head.

Marine nods. “Yeah, I gotcha. But I know what I’m doing—I’m not gonna tear it apart just by looking.”

“You didn’t just look,” comes Miles’s throaty growl. His entire body is flush with the plane’s surface as if he’s trying to melt into it.

Navy steps between the two young mechanical enthusiasts. “This is Tails’s workshop, so his rules apply, okay? If you want to work here, you’ll have to—”

“Work here?” Miles sputters in disbelief. “Who said she could work here?”

Navy sighs. “I’m sorry. I just thought you could use the help, and she’s got some incredible work—”

“Talk to me about stuff like that first! And anyway, you’re not the one in charge of hiring people—Bunnie is.”

“But you have to clear them first. I thought you’d like to see her invention!”

“Get her out of my garage!” Miles shrieks. Navy holds his tongue as he realizes his little brother is staring directly into his eyes. That only happens in two situations: he’s scared and seeking comfort, or he’s ready to fight the entire world. Navy’s guess is the latter.

He shuts his eyes and nods. “Okay. If you decide to give her a second chance, I’ll bring her to Bunnie’s jurisdiction.” As he gestures toward the front entrance, he notices a head poking through the back door. The shouting must’ve alerted Bunnie.

“What’s that about my jurisdiction?” She leans against the door frame, arms crossed. Then she sees Marine. “Oh,” she gasps. “This li’l doll?” A smile spreads across her face.

Marine performs a quick salute as Navy steers her toward the woman. “Hello,” she greets, her accent more potent-sounding now that Bunnie’s southern drawl has entered the mix. “My name’s Marine. I’m an inventor of awesome machines.”

“Funny you should show up here, then,” Bunnie jokes with a light chuckle. “We happen to be short on hands to fix awesome machines.”

“We-we’re not short on hands,” Miles argues, but Bunnie shushes him.

“We are with you choosing to focus on your passion projects— wonderful passion projects, that is. But the truth is…” she pauses and sighs. “Darlin’, business is pickin’ up, the little fixes are piled in a corner, and I’m runnin’ out of time. We could use the help.”

Miles squints warily at Marine, then gurgles through a sigh. “Fine. But I’m not helping her.”

Bunnie smirks knowingly. “Sure,” she chirps, completely unconvinced. She exchanges a glance with Navy. They both know he’ll get fed up with her “wrong” way of doing things and end up lending a hand; they’ve both played dumb before just to tease him. The only problem is they’re already friends with him—who knows how he’ll react to a disliked acquaintance’s mistakes?

Marine, however, is blissfully unaware of any of this. “Aye-aye!” she practically sings, saluting again with a bit of extra bounce. “I won’t let you down!”

“Hold your horses a minute, doll,” Bunnie chuckles. “We’ve gotta get you through a formal interview first. Why don’t you step into my office?” She guides the girl away with an arm around her shoulders.

Those remaining in the room exchange looks. “This’ll go well,” Navy remarks with a smirk. Miles, unimpressed, glares at him. The man rolls his eyes with a snort. “Anyway, what kind of demi do you think she is? I couldn’t exactly tell.”

“Smells like a raccoon,” Miles grumbles, hopping onto the wing of the biplane and curling into a fuzzy orange ball.

Navy clicks his tongue. “That’s… kinda rude, but… raccoon sounds right, actually.”

“Agreed,” Amy hums. “She’s got the tail and the natural darkness around her eyes. But where some raccoon demis have a scary mask, hers is cute! Don’t you think so, Tails?”

He separates his tails enough to peek through them and glower at her. “No.”

Navy scoffs. “Eh, you’ll warm up to her. Anyway, Ames, you doin’ anything right now?”

She shrugs. “I was taking a break from grading, but I can extend it. What’s up?”

He fails to control the curl of his lips. “Whaddya say to lunch?”

Miles pokes his head out again. “Did you just ask her out?”

Navy blushes while Amy laughs. “He totally did,” she teases.

“Oh, be quiet,” he growls. “I’m just hungry. You comin’ or what?”

Just as she opens her mouth to answer, Miles’s stomach speaks up instead. Amy giggles. “Why don’t we all go together?” she suggests.

Navy deflates a little, but he’s content to spend time with his little brother again. “Sounds great, actually,” he agrees.

Miles hops down from the wing. “I want a cheddar chili dog.”

“You always know just what to say,” Navy sighs, already drooling at the thought. “I’ll get mine spicy with extra peppers and onions.”

“Seems I’ll have to overcome my decision paralysis before we arrive,” Amy quips. “Shoot as many suggestions as you want, boys.”

Navy and Miles grin at each other excitedly. “You got it,” they reply in sync, rubbing their hands together deviously. They’re going to flood her with suggestions until they find just the right one. Then, they’ll have the best lunch ever.

Chapter Text

The morning dawned with uncertainty. Two of Silver’s siblings came to his bedside before the sun came up, complaining of stomach pain. At that moment, he began to doubt his plans would come to fruition and curse life for the spontaneity of it all. His day wasn’t supposed to start before five in the morning, but who was he to deny his little siblings their needs?

After the vomit scare, the morning passed slightly more predictably. The only problem was the fact that the little ones were no longer going to be at school—Silver could see the bags under Lucky’s eyes before they’d formed. In light of that, he decided to stay home an extra hour or two, becoming more grateful by the second for Shadow’s leniency toward the chef’s shifts.

Though he’s stressed about the morning’s wrench-lobbing events, he’s still on his way to the studio at a reasonable time. He made sure to keep Blaze’s invitation secret from his family, declining to even mention her in front of Marbles. But the moment he stepped out of the undersized apartment, he plugged the address into his GPS app and took off jogging.

Now, halfway there, his heart is hammering behind his ribs. He’s not sure it’s just from running anymore; maybe it’s the thrill of meeting a girl somewhere special, or maybe he’s caught feelings for her. He doesn’t like the idea of the latter—not now, anyway. He just wants to be friends with her. The notion that it’s rebellious to meet a girl without Lucky’s knowledge, though, makes his heart skip a little. That’s got to be the issue, right?

But then why does it feel so good to “rebel” like this? He’s never wanted to color outside the lines. Not just that, he’s never dared. So why does his stomach turn pleasantly and his face warm at the thought? He tosses it all aside, chalking it up to fatigue, and focuses on the studio coming into view before him.

It’s quaint—not something he expected from a classy girl like her. But on the other hand, if her whole family’s classy, maybe she’s trying to stray from their ideals a little. She didn’t seem too impressed with them when he brought them up yesterday.

He runs his fingers through his hair and slows to a halt to catch his breath. Upon closer inspection, the building’s not so bad—it just doesn’t really look like a dance studio. It looks like a tiny art museum, which, he supposes, isn’t too far off after all. He takes a deep breath and marches up the steps, joking to himself about entering to see the statues.

The inside is cold and sterile. Doors line the walls at even intervals. He doesn’t know which room to enter; the whole thing is a confusing maze that looks much larger from within. He stands paralyzed by the water fountains and wrings his hands awkwardly.

Eventually, one of the doors opens. Someone unfamiliar exits with a towel around his neck. Silver’s social anxiety kicks in and, instead of asking about Blaze, he just waves sheepishly as the man passes. The nervous teen throws a glance over his shoulder as the stranger walks by, intimidated by his muscular form. Dancers are built differently, he muses, his eyes widening. Was Blaze that ripped?

He takes a risk and wanders down the hall, undesired images of an extremely muscular Blaze passing through his head. Each room’s door has a small window, so he peeks through each one on his way down. Some are covered by curtains, some have groups dancing to classical or pop music, some are vacant and dark, and one even has an exercise class sweating over dumbbells, platforms, and yoga mats. Silver moves on from each window the moment he determines an unfortunate lack of Blaze.

After three empty rooms in a row, he nearly gives up, but a sensation like a spinning whisk in his heart urges him onward. Two rooms later, he stops. His heart leaps. He’s nervous, excited, embarrassed, anxious, scared, desperate, lonely, longing, hopeful, and regretful all at once. He can hardly handle it, but… there she is. Finally.

His hand knocks on the door before he can think twice. Blaze, who had been stretching her arms, turns in surprise. Her eyes light up when she sees him, and she rushes to let him in. “I didn’t know you were coming,” she chuckles.

At once, Silver notices four things: she’s fairly muscular but not as noticeably as the man, her hair is in a bun instead of its usual ponytail, she seems short on breath, and her outfit consists of a leotard and ballet slippers. Add the outfit and tight hairdo and she looks like a seasoned ballet pro. But Silver spends a second or two too long evaluating all this, and Blaze takes notice.

“You okay, Silver?” she asks, tilting her head at him in worry. “Is something wrong?”

His face flushes. “Y-yeah, sorry. You, um… your…” Come on, pick a detail, brain! “your shoes…. How long have you been doing ballet?”

She smiles. “Twelve years. My parents started me as young as I would let them. Lucky for them, I ended up liking it. It’s unfortunate they changed their minds,” she explains with a smirk.

He chuckles. “So you’re keeping it going just to spite them now?”

“Exactly right.” She hums a snicker. “By the way, you never replied to my text. Was… was that intentional?” she inquires, putting one foot on the waist-high railing on the wall.

He flinches. “Uh… not really. I guess it didn’t really seem like a reply was necessary, but… I’m sorry. I should know better.”

She stops stretching her leg and turns to him. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re fine. Sometimes I forget to reply, and sometimes… well, that. Or I just don’t want to. Or I see it too late. Lots of possibilities.” She fiddles with her fingers, but otherwise, she’s turned stiff like a statue.

He grins sheepishly as his face warms again; the back of his neck prickles with heat, drawing his hand up to scratch it. “Thanks for understanding. But I’m still sorry.”

She nods silently and puts her other leg on the bar. Silver’s jaw drops as she effortlessly touches her forehead to her shin. He then gives in to his intrusive thoughts and puts his foot up to try for himself, but he fails miserably, only able to bend his body into a candy cane shape. Blaze glances over and giggles.

“First of all, your form’s wrong,” she critiques. She rotates his foot and steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, then demonstrates. “Keep your back more straight. Don’t strain for the farthest position first, either—just stop where the stretch begins, and as you stretch more consistently, you’ll find that point gets farther along.”

He leans as instructed, the gentle pressure of her hand on his back and the zephyr of her breath on his cheek. A smile spreads on his face against his will just as he feels the stretch in his leg. He nods to let her know what he’s feeling, and she nods back.

“Just stretch to there every day, then,” she instructs. “You can do it on the floor, against the wall, on a counter or handrail—anywhere that works for you, really. And make sure you stretch both legs.”

He nods again and stands normally. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaks, his voice cracking. He immediately grabs his throat as his expression bursts into the epitome of embarrassment.

Blaze cracks up. “Oh, please don’t call me ‘ma’am’!”

“S-sorry!” he blurts. “Force of habit.”

“Who’re you calling ‘ma’am’ in your daily life?” she wonders aloud.

He stares into the distance. “Oh… well, nobody anymore. Well, except Lucky, but only as an occasional joke,” he clarifies. “My boss is a man, my coworkers are mostly men… wow, I’m kinda surrounded by dudes,” he observes suddenly. “Huh. Anyway, I guess if I’ll be seeing Bunnie more often, I’d be calling her ‘ma’am.’ Back in the day, though, I referred to most of my teachers that way.”

“Back in the day?” she echoes, snickering. “What are you, fifty?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, finally beginning to relax. “Yeah, and you’re seven.”

“Eighteen, actually,” she corrects playfully. “You?”

His throat tightens for a second before he responds. “Seventeen. I didn’t know we were that close in age.”

She smiles curiously. “How old did you think I was?”

“Like, twenty? I dunno,” he admits with a shrug. “I’m terrible at guessing ages.”

“Well, you shot lower than most,” she laughs. “Some people go as high as twenty-eight.”

“Ten years—what?” he sputters. “Who’s saying that?”

She winces. “Guys from clubs. I just ignore them.”

“What are you doing at clubs?” Silver teases. He’s fairly certain he knows the situation, but he wants to hear her confirmation.

She sighs and massages her forehead. “For goodness’s sake—I’m not in the clubs,” she chuckles. “I have to walk past them to get home.”

He tilts his head. “Where’s that? Most of the popular clubs are in the north district.”

She nods. “That’s right. I live in the upper third.”

His eyes and mouth widen as he processes that information. “The upper… third? Like, the elites? The rich-rich? You’re…?”

She lowers her gaze and turns away. Silver immediately sucks his lips between his teeth, sensing he’s made a mistake. But how does he correct it? What should he say? Blaze’s shoulders ascend toward her ears; the boy’s heart jumps.

“I-I’m sorry!” he blurts. “I mean, it’s not gonna change anything in my book, so…. That is, what I’m trying to say is—”

She smiles over her shoulder. “Gotcha.”

His face warms again. “You—! You… totally did,” he whines, deflating humorously. “Ugh. I thought I was done getting got.”

She giggles. “I can’t resist the occasional tease every now and then, especially when I’m feeling this good,” she admits, strolling away with her hands clasped behind her back. Silver glances up to see she’s staring dreamily at the ceiling.

Something like whipped cream—something light and fluffy—floats across his chest. It’s wistful and lonely, yet embracing like the love of a full family. But maybe the latter is the reason for the former; perhaps his overwhelming loneliness at the sensation of a family’s love is due to his lack thereof. If that’s truly the answer, though, one more mystery remains unsolved: why did it occur when he looked at Blaze?

“You’re feeling good?” he murmurs cluelessly, not realizing he’s speaking.

She smiles back at him. “This place has that effect on me. And being with a friend in it… that makes it all the more comforting.”

His face warms all over again, but this time, he’s not sheepish or defensive about it. It’s pleasant, like a perfect spring day. “Yeah,” he mumbles absently. “Yeah… it does, doesn’t it?”

She turns to face him fully. Her mouth opens as if to continue their sentimental agreement, but she pauses. Several seconds go by in silence. Silver notices the incredible soundproofing of the building as he realizes the pop music from just a few rooms over is impossible to hear. But that has its downsides, too—if Blaze were to get hurt all alone… would anyone know to help?

Finally, Blaze pipes up again, breaking Silver out of his catastrophizing. “Why did you decide to come?” she whispers.

Silver can’t read her expression. Her eyes are lowered and her lips are pressed together, but her brows and ears are relaxed. Her elbows stick out loosely from her sides while her fingers are intertwined in front of her hips. At first, Silver defaults to “comforting mode,” smiling and preparing a motivational speech in his mind. But as he fumbles over reassurances even in his brain, he realizes that’s not what she wants. She wants real answers, not excuses and lies. And she deserves them.

He clenches his fists and sighs. “I need answers.”

Chapter Text

“That is, I had hoped you could give me some answers,” he corrects. She looks up; he avoids her eyes. “I’m not sure you can, but if you know a lot about dance… I don’t know, maybe. I just want to know where mine came from.”

“Your… dance?” she asks to clarify. “You never mentioned you dance.” A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and Silver takes note of it with a grin of his own.

“Yeah,” he mutters sheepishly. “It’s something I’ve always known how to do. My parents didn’t know where I got it, Lucky’s clueless about it, Marbles… well, Marbles doesn’t care,” he snorts, then continues, “but it’s… I can’t shake the feeling that it’s part of me. Something I can’t place. Something even my own parents didn’t have. For that reason, I can’t understand it, but if it’s got some origin with another type of dance, that’d be a good place to start, right?”

Blaze nods eagerly. “Let’s see it, then. Do you need music?”

Silver blushes. “Um… that might work out better for me.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Gosh, it’s been years since I did it in front of someone on purpose. I’m… beyond nervous,” he admits with a loud bark of a laugh.

The girl snickers. “I’m just a fly on the wall… who happens to control the radio. I’m not even here.”

“But you are—you get it! You can’t pretend you don’t know me, and I can’t pretend you’re not here,” he compares, his voice rising in pitch. His heart’s thudding harder now, making his words shakier and his breaths more ragged.

Blaze pauses her retrieval of the radio and glides across the room to reach him. “Silver,” she calls, her voice smooth like buttercream and as soothing as honey lemon tea. Her hand lands on his shoulder with the weight of a feather. A tingling sensation ebbs up and down Silver’s spine. “I’m here. I’m not judging you. I’m evaluating the dance, not the dancer; just let your body flow to the music, okay?”

He lets air fill his lungs, then releases it. “Okay.” His chest puffs out a bit as his heart calms. As Blaze returns to the radio, Silver prepares himself by steadying his stance and stretching his arms.

The radio roars to life with overwhelming static, making the two teens jump. Blaze swats for the volume to turn it down, but her hand hits the tuning knob instead, switching the channel from distorted classical to bassy pop. She fumbles with the device until their ears aren’t at risk of exploding. She smiles apologetically at Silver as the host of one station drones on.

Soon enough, though, a song begins to play. Silver re-readies himself, shutting his eyes and focusing on the blood coursing through his veins. The music is unfamiliar, but that doesn’t matter; he lets his muscle memory and blood guide him to the beat. Every move is made with purpose and emotion even though he doesn’t recall the first time he felt this way. His eyes remain closed; he lets his feet guide him away from walls.

As the music gives way to the radio station’s glitchy interjection between songs, Silver drops his arms to his sides and wheezes. Blaze shuts off the radio and takes two long steps toward him. “Are you okay?” she gasps.

He straightens and nods. “Doing the whole thing takes a lot out of me. I don’t get enough exercise, I guess.” His ragged breaths turn into a light chuckle. “I forgot some of those moves until today. Weird, huh?”

Blaze puts on a smile, then lets it fade into a contemplative frown. “Yes, well… about the dance style,” she reminds him. “I didn’t recognize it as anything in particular, but it could be inspired by ballet and some other things. Unfortunately, I’ve only done ballet, ballroom, tap, and one salsa class.”

He smirks, but he can’t hide his disappointment. Even so, he turns to his old friend, light teasing, to ease the burning frustration in his chest. “Salsa, huh? Did you have chips with it?”

She rolls her eyes, failing to resist the creeping grin slowly taking control of her face. She gives his shoulder a firm whack, snorting with laughter. “That was horrible.”

He snickers. “I get the feeling it’s a day for really bad puns.”

As their laughter dies down, the two begin searching for something else to say before the awkwardness kicks in. Silver’s eyes wander to his friend and drink in the subtle sight of her pinkened cheeks. Butterflies whirl in his stomach like cotton candy around a paper cone, but they’re gone just as fast.

“You okay?”

She snaps out of her focus to glance at her worried companion. “What?”

“You’re all red,” he points out, half teasing and half concerned. “Everything okay?”

She sighs and hides her face. “I just… hate my laugh.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. And I can’t dance.”

“I’m serious,” she whimpers through her hands.

Silver pauses. “I’m… sorry. You lost me. I seriously don’t get it.”

Her cheeks darken as she removes her hands from them. “What…?”

“I love your laugh.”

She stands bolt upright, her tail becomes poofy, and her ears stretch toward the ceiling. Silver bites his lip, trying not to laugh as she buffers for a moment before zipping to the other side of the room. She puts the radio back where she found it and adjusts her leotard, then steals a glance at Silver. Their eyes meet. Her face explodes with heat anew.

Silver bursts out laughing. Blaze slaps her hands over her face again, uttering a sound halfway between a groan and a chuckle. She gasps for air a moment later, then presses her palm together and clenches her jaw in an uneasy grin. “Don’t… don’t you have work?” she reminds him, her voice strained as she gestures to him with her hands. Her tail wraps around one leg.

His laughter decreases in an instant. “W-well, yeah… but I don’t have to be there yet.” He buries his fingers in his hair awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I made things weird, huh?”

Her ears rotate back. “N-no… no. You gave me a compliment. I reacted… oddly.” She rubs her arm with the opposite hand, her cheeks still bright red.

The room falls silent. For a second, Silver thinks he can hear the beat of a pop song nearby, but he promptly discovers it’s just his heart. His hand falls to his side; he gazes at the girl across the room like she’s a painting in a museum. Then, despite the extended silence, despite the stomach-churning awkwardness, he smiles. He beams. And he really feels like it, too.

“Teach me,” he blurts, his eyes sparkling with determination. “Teach me how to dance.”

Chapter Text

After Blaze gets over her initial confusion, she agrees to teach Silver to dance. “But,” she adds before he can celebrate, “what kind of dance? Ballroom? Ballet? Be specific, Silver.”

He traces a line on the ceiling with his eyes, a goofy grin oozing across his face. “All of ’em. Give me everything you’ve got!”

Blaze sighs, rolls her eyes, and extends her hand. “You’re going to regret that, you know. Say goodbye to your free time.”

He takes her hand. “I like spending time with you. What’s free time if you don’t spend it wisely, anyway?”

He could swear her cheeks turn pink again as she glances away and chuckles. “Well… you’re got a point. Let’s see how long you believe in it.” With that, she tugs him close, putting her other hand on his waist. “For teaching purposes, I’ll lead,” she explains, the devious smirk on her face almost ill-fitting given her previous demeanor.

His face, however, is perfectly suited to his flustered personality and odd situation. The only issue is that he looks like a tomato.

Blaze begins counting to a beat Silver can’t match, moving too quickly for him to register she’s in motion. After a few measures, though, he starts to understand the rhythm. He’s still not confident enough to match her lengthy strides, but he counts the little victories with a hint of pride. But just as soon as he lets himself feel congratulated, frustration bubbles up—why can’t he match the length of her steps when he’s taller?

As they dance, Blaze gradually introduces more flares and flourishes. Silver can’t decide whether she wants him to get them immediately or suffer. A few minutes later, he’s out of breath, and Blaze decides to pause their practice.

“I probably should’ve just started you on the basics,” she admits, “but I also wanted you to understand it’ll take a lot of work to get it perfect. Heck, I’m not even perfect. But all things considered, you did great.”

“I did?” Silver pants, chuckling. “I couldn’t tell with my legs burning from all those lunges.”

Blaze snickers. “Oh, those? You’ll get used to them. It’s the ankle-breaking twirls you’ll need to worry about—though, on second thought, you probably won’t, given your gender.”

“So boys don’t get to twirl?” Silver asks with mock despair. “What kind of a world do we live in?”

She laughs again, more fully this time. Upon inhaling, she snorts, and her cheeks instantly turn red. Silver giggles, earning himself a glare and an apologetic look back to back. Blaze sighs.

“I told you I like your laugh,” he reiterates, grinning. “It’s cute, contagious… comforting. Sorta reminds me of laughing really hard at stuff and forgetting how to breathe. Feels like good memories and holidays,” he describes fondly, staring off into the ceiling tiles.

When he drags his gaze back down to her, he finds her cheeks an even more furious shade of red and laughs again. “You’re very extra with your compliments, aren’t you?” she grumbles, covering her face again.

Silver pauses. “Actually, no. Not usually. I just… say what I think.”

Blaze scoffs and throws her hands up. “Seriously? Seriously. How? How does that—y’know what, nevermind.” She puts her hands on her hips and turns away, then massages her temples.

Silver bursts out laughing. He gently takes one of her hands and twirls her around, smiling wider as she spins elegantly despite being flustered. When she stops, her body is pointed toward him, but her face is lowered. She lifts her eyes below her lashes and gazes at him. A subtle shiver skitters across his skin. Is she giving me… “the eyes”? he wonders with a hint of fear. Wait, what does that mean, again? Should I do something? Maybe… make a dumb joke—no, that’s my solution to everything….

Suddenly, she rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Well, at least you’ve got the confidence to spin me. Next, since you’re so eager, we’ll work on your hand form.”

“‘At least’?” he scoffs, putting his hands on his hips in feigned offense. “You have to admit that was a nice twirl.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Thank you.”

He pauses, then scoffs. “Dang it.”

She chuckles. “Well, what do you say? Would you like to continue with the basics?”

He nods slowly, his confidence building as he goes. “Will I get to lead this time?” he asks, a little too much hope in his tone. He chastises himself at his failure to hide it. What if she thinks you’re a pervert, Silver? What then?

She shakes her head. “Not quite yet. We won’t be dancing until I’m confident you won’t step on my toes,” she quips.

He barks a laugh. “Okay, great vote of confidence there,” he teases. “I’m surprisingly good at avoiding stepping on toes—I promise.”

“Bunnie told me you work with someone called Shadow. From the way she described his… temperament, I suppose you’d have to be,” she remarks.

Silver tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, I guess. He’s not as bad as he seems, though.”

“Maybe I should meet him,” Blaze considers.

Silver winces. “He’s… particular. I think he’s nice to me because I remind him of his daughter.”

“Perhaps being a girl would help me gain favor in his eyes,” the cat-girl snickers. “What’s she like?”

“I’ve never actually talked to her, but Shadow says she’s really invested in certain topics—like talk-your-ear-off kind of invested. And apparently my pastries are a favorite topic of hers,” he notes proudly. “Not to brag, though. I mean, they’re great, but… not bragging. Totally.”

Blaze laughs. “Maybe I should swing by for a taste!”

“Would you?” Silver gasps, then clears his throat. “I-I mean, that’d be cool. Super chill.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “If you were a book, you’d have huge font and no metaphors.”

He blushes sheepishly and scratches his neck. “Yeah, yeah….”

“What’s work like for you, anyway?” she digresses, wandering over to the railing to stretch more while they talk.

“Lots of flour, lots of heat, and lots of taste-testing,” he summarizes with a grin. “My favorite part’s the last.”

She snorts. “I bet. Think you could cut me a deal?”

“Said the rich girl,” Silver laughs.

She huffs again, but it’s tainted with a hint of disgust. “The girl with rich parents , you mean.”

He stamps down on his urge to give her a big, warm, comforting hug and instead grabs one of her hands. “Why don’t we just… dance? I’ll get the hang of it.”

She pivots to reach the radio and switches it on. A pop song flows evenly from its speakers, its rhythm easy and affable enough for their bodies to start moving on their own. Blaze positions his hands, then her own, and instructs him over the music. Silver is laser-focused on the words from her mouth… then just on her mouth. He only realizes he’s distracted when he nearly trips over a piece of lint. He adds some flourishes and moves with extra intention after that.

The song ends far too soon for Silver. It was fun dancing with his new friend, but it’s tough to dance to carpet store advertisements. They back a step away from each other. Silver then bows dramatically, making Blaze giggle. As he lifts his head, she curtsies. But as she rises, her eyes catch on something behind Silver.

She gasps. “It’s later than I thought it was,” she comments, beginning to grab her items. “I have to wash up before work. And I left something at home….”

“I… I should probably do my job, too,” Silver sighs. “But, y’know… if you ever need someone to distract you, feel free to call me. My job’s about to get easier.”

“How so?” Blaze asks, giving in to the curiosity bubbling inside her.

Silver smirks. “My boss is getting a food time machine,” he brags. “Apparently it keeps the food fresher for longer or something like that. He shouldn’t be back yet, but it’s gonna save me from self-imposed hundred-hour weeks,” he notes positively.

She quirks an eyebrow. “You… used to work one hundred hours each week?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just love my job. And… and home’s a little… stressful at times.”

“Speaking of homes—and stressful ones at that,” the girl pipes up again, “you don’t take weekends off, either, huh?”

“Nah. I needed the cash, so I just wrote ‘available 24/7’ on my contract. That apparently came with full access and unlimited flour.”

“And you’ve… worked alone that whole time?”

Silver flinches at her question. But when he doesn’t answer right away, Blaze picks up where she left off. “How long was ‘that whole time,’ anyway?”

He winces, grinning guiltily. “Um… around two years.”

Her face twitches in every possible way as she tries to decide on an expression to make. “One hundred hours per week—”

“Over one hundred, actually—some weeks had 140 if I was really bored.”

She stares at him from under brows lowered with concern. “Over one hundred hours per week for two years—work days including weekends, probably some holidays, and more than likely birthdays—all alone in the back of a confectionary with only an annoying coworker and a grumpy boss to check in on you? You love your job that much?”

After a moment’s consideration, he nods. “I do. I really, really do.”

Her face finally relaxes. She’s still a bit bewildered, but she smiles. “Wow. I… aspire to be like you.”

He blushes. “No… you don’t. I don’t see my family enough.”

She holds up a finger to shush him. “Exactly. I want your life, honestly.”

He laughs. “I don’t think switching’s a good idea, though. I couldn’t survive a day in a mechanic’s shop. But… speaking of that, I didn’t take you for the type. Think you can give me a five-minute summary while we walk?” he suggests, pointing at the clock. “We’ve been standing here longer than is probably wise.”

She nods and grabs the rest of her things, shoving them into a small bag by the door Silver hadn’t noticed before. “It’s simple, but… hard to explain. I have this… affinity, let’s say, and it helps with jobs that require lots of… heat. I don’t get overheated easily, I’ve never been burned, I’m good at welding—getting better, anyway—and general things like that, I guess.” The two turn a corner and exit the building. Silver immediately notices the humidity is higher now; he considers the possibility of rain. Blaze, however, doesn’t seem to heed the weather, continuing to explain her quirk. “So while a bakery would’ve been a decent fit—I could just pull trays out of the oven without mitts—I suck at baking. I’ve set water on fire—water! If you ever meet my mother, don’t tell her I said this, but… she’s just as bad. At least she tries, though. Anyway, it’s hard to navigate through a full explanation without a demonstration, but I’m not entirely comfortable with doing that outside.”

“Wouldn’t you need, like, an oven or something anyway?” Silver questions, confused.

She shakes her head. “It’s… well, like I said, hard to explain.”

He hums in understanding. “Yeah… I’ve got something like that, too.”

She smiles softly. “You know… I wasn’t sure I wanted to show you, but I think… I think you deserve to know.”

He grins as she takes his hand and leads him to a nearby alley. There, in the dark, among trash and graffiti, she shows him her unique, remarkable, otherworldly secret.

Chapter Text

With the robot scare solved, Navy finds himself more relaxed than he was when his new nemesis was among the garbage. It might leave him with one less task to fill his days, sure, but it’s a relief to not have to worry about him coming back again. Not even a metal man could survive a beating like that—not when a sledgehammer-wielding angel’s involved.

Now, he walks Amy home after their lunch—Miles left earlier to return to work, leaving the two unsupervised—and runs the scene through his mind over and over again. She walked on the clouds with Marine’s invention, swung that hammer straight into Metal Sonic’s stupid face, and… oh, his heart goes wild at just the thought. With all that admiration, though, is a twinge of fear. How strong does one have to be to wield such a weapon with such force… and ease?

He glances over at the pink-haired woman beside him. She’s cute, peppy, unassuming… she looks like an easy target. Thanks to that, Navy’s urge to protect her flares up. But he knows better now; she can protect herself and him when needed. Part of him is jealous, but the vast majority of him falls deeper in love. Overall, he’s proud to be beside her.

Just as he puffs out his chest, a scream pierces the air behind him. His heart kicks into overdrive as he whips around, prepared to bash someone’s skull in or sprint to the rescue. But instead of a damsel in distress, he finds a grinning child making a beeline for Amy.

“Miss Rosenfeld!” the little girl squeals, throwing herself at Amy with her arms wide. “I haven’t seen you since the shooting!”

Navy’s heart drops at the mention of the disaster, but Amy lifts his spirits by laughing. “Angie! I’m glad to see you’re okay!” she greets, hugging the girl back. “How’s the rest of your class?”

Angie quiets down immediately. “Marco’s still in the hospital and Mibby hasn’t been able to come to class,” she recites, an unfamiliar timidity filling her tone. “Mom says Mibby’s sick, but I just saw her yesterday and she looked fine. She just didn’t look happy.”

Navy glances away. Amy, on the other hand, grips the girl’s shoulders gently and smiles. “Mibby has some recovering to do, but I wouldn’t say she’s sick. She’s processing everything that’s happened, so we just need to give her time and support. If she’s not ready to talk to her friends, we’ll let her be alone. But let’s show her we still love her, okay?”

“How do we do that?” Angie asks in a whisper.

Amy pauses. “I… don’t entirely know. Just reach out and try something, and we’ll figure out what works from there.”

Navy’s expression softens as he stares at the teacher. An adoring smile pushes at his cheeks, and try as he might to push it back, it spreads. He ruffles Amy’s hair and chuckles. “Show her a little love. Send her a card or give her a call. Draw her something. If you can get close, ask to give her a hug. Little things like that can help a ton.”

Angie grins up at Navy, glancing between him and Amy. “Are you two dating?”

Navy’s cheeks explode with heat. “We’re—! Um, it’s not—”

To Navy’s surprise, Amy takes her comment in stride, snickering lightly. “We’re friends. It depends though; if he works up the courage to ask me out…” she trails off, smirking at him.

He clears his throat. “Quit teasing. Gosh, you and Tails are insufferable sometimes….”

“Love ya too,” the teacher laughs.

Navy flinches and averts his gaze, cheeks still burning.

The girl giggles. “That’s great! I’m glad you’re happy, Ms. Rosenfeld!”

Amy grins warmly. “And I’m happy you’re still cheerful, too.”

Angie waves goodbye and runs back to her adult. Amy watches even after the little girl has turned away, and Navy searches her eyes to reveal her emotions. She’s enigmatic to him, though he hates to admit it, but he loves her nonetheless.

His study of her eyes ends abruptly when she turns around and starts walking as well. “Former student of mine,” she explains. “Last year. Her teacher this year is an Army veteran, so I thought her class would all be fine, but… it sounds like they’ve seen some stuff.”

Navy winces. “Sorry. I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Amy shrugs nonchalantly, but her voice is soft. “You were busy.”

“I was napping,” he scoffs. “I was taking a nap on a roof when I heard some lady on the phone talking about the school being in danger. If I’d stayed on patrol like I was supposed to—”

“You’re just a man,” Amy interrupts him, a hint of irritation in his tone. “Nobody expects you to be awake all day and all night fighting bad guys and saving lives. You’re not invincible.”

Navy bites his tongue for a few seconds after she finishes. When he puts his thoughts together, he speaks. “They do expect that of me. They need someone to put their hope and trust in, and I’m trying to be that person. Time and time again, I show them that I’m a force to be reckoned with, that I am invincible; time and time again, I win. That day was not a victory. Not to me. So don’t even try to tell me it’s fine, or that I couldn’t have done better. I could have. I would have… if I hadn’t been lazy.”

Amy watches him silently as he rants. After he’s done, she puts her hand on his. “Hey… I understand.”

“You don’t,” he whispers. He tugs his hand away and realizes his bitten nails are digging into his palms. He stretches his fingers. “You’re a teacher. You protect and educate your students. But I protect the entire city.”

“The students are the future of the city,” Amy reminds him. Her hand moves up to his shoulder. “And if I could get the time, I’d be out there with you.”

Navy jolts. “No! No way!” Amy jumps back as he lashes out, but he freezes, terror in his eyes. “You don’t want this, Amy. I don’t even want this.”

She scoffs. “So cut yourself some slack already! I don’t want to be a teacher every day, but I’m stuck in this role. But you getting there late gave me more time to care for myself, check on my family and friends, and be lazy.” She pauses to laugh. “Thank you. I know you feel guilty because some lives were lost, but think about the ones you saved,” she persuades. “And… and I’m sorry. Sorry for yelling at you that day. More things were at stake than I realized at that moment.”

Navy doesn’t reply. The upset churning of his gut is distracting and paralyzing, but his heart is glad. Without meeting her eyes, he takes her hand gently in his and nods. A smile takes over her face. He resists the contagious grin as long as he can… and lasts about five seconds.

“By the way,” he pipes up again, ready to divert the topic, “you were amazing up there. Don’t make a habit of it, but you looked like a natural. Where’d you even get a sledgehammer, anyway?”

“Borrowed it,” she responds vaguely. “Didn’t ask for it, but nobody’s gonna care. They had jackhammers.”

“So… you stole something from a construction site?” the hero inquires with a subtly accusatory tone.

The pink-haired woman rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Yeah. Lock me up.”

“You know I have authority to do that,” he reminds her, his statement more of a question than a declaration.

“And I know you won’t,” she taunts.

He smirks playfully. “Do you really want to test that? I mean, I’ve helped arrest package thieves less guilty than you.”

“Maybe you should leave the little crimes to the police, then, since you’re so busy and exhausted,” she suggests. While her voice is still musical and jovial, there’s an aftertaste of seriousness. Thanks to that, Navy genuinely considers the recommendation.

He snaps out of his unusual thinking trance and back to the conversation. “Ah—your distraction methods won’t work on me, ya dirty thief! C’mere!” He grabs for her, but she slips out of his arms like a bar of soap.

“Not so fast,” she giggles. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about… these?” She rolls up her t-shirt sleeves and flexes her arms.

To Navy’s shock, her arm ripples with muscles previously disguised as normal, everyday arms. But then again, Amy Rosenfeld is anything but normal. His heart jumps—whether with fear or adoration is yet to be determined—and he swallows a lump in his throat. One thing’s for sure: he’ll never look at her the same way again. But that doesn't mean he’ll let her risk her life like he does.

She chuckles and returns her arms to her sides, her sleeves flopping back down as well. “You went through all the stages of grief there,” she jokes. He elbows her as they laugh.

As they walk, they come to a part of the street Navy recognizes for its frequent violent crimes—muggings, murders, you name it—and steps closer to Amy. His eyes dart to every passerby with a suspicion rivaling that of a lead detective studying the primary suspect in his case. At some point, he even hovers his arm around her shoulders for extra protection without the awkwardness of explaining away a side-hug. Inevitably, though, his arm bumps her, and she takes notice of his caution.

“Don’t worry about it,” Navy blurts before the pink-haired woman can ask her question. “Dangerous part of town.”

She snorts. “I know. I have pepper spray and my guns.”

He grins, rolling his eyes to avoid viewing her intimidating flexing again. “Yeah, yeah. But you can’t blame me for being too careful when I’ve seen capable cops get dragged screaming down alleys with knives to their throats.”

Amy raises her eyebrows. “I think I’ll have to hear that story sometime,” she notes curiously.

He chuckles. “Well, spoiler alert: they turned out fine. I was a kid fresh from the countryside—or whatever suburban daydream I thought was the countryside—and I wasn’t used to the way the city worked. That was a rude awakening, but it’s when I learned to avoid this street. Tight alleys, tighter handcuffs… especially if you’re there at just the wrong time.”

She gasps giddily at the gossip fuel in his words. “Wait, did you get arrested once?”

He scratches the back of his neck like his life depends on it. “That’s… a story for another time. Maybe.”

She hums with interest. “Don’t leave me hanging for too long. I might get fed up—or worse, bored.”

He chuckles. “You won’t be bored around me, trust me. Danger just can’t keep its hands off me.” He gestures to himself with a smirk, glancing at her from the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction.

To his relief and pride, she giggles. “Or bullets, apparently. How’re those wounds doing, by the way? You don’t seem bothered by the lack of healing anymore,” she observes, straying from her goofy, teasing tone and posture.

He straightens, somewhat surprised at her concern. “I’m… I’m fine. Doing well, actually. After the whole Metal Sonic thing—which you ended fantastically, by the way—the slow healing was just… gone. In fact, I forgot it was even a thing. Tails did some great work figuring out the chemical stuff, but while we now know the what, we’re still in the dark as to the why. It’s frustrating—I mean, why would someone lace bullets with a chemical compound specifically made to slow quicker healing, then go attack a school full of kids?” He sighs. “At this point, your guess isn’t just as good as mine, it’s better.”

His heartthrob smirks. “I might have an idea there, actually.”

Chapter Text

“You’re confused about why they’d go to a school where, supposedly, nobody has accelerated healing, right?”

Navy nods. “That’s a part of it—the main part.”

Amy murmurs her understanding. “Right. So, let’s assume they knew you were coming.”

“Then he would’ve been less surprised when I did,” Sonic scoffs. “No way. He just wanted to do damage. Just… I dunno, used the wrong ammo or something.”

The teacher clicks her tongue. “Fine, then. He didn’t know you were coming. But where does an intoxicated guy without a firearms permit get firearms? Someone else was involved. The police—and the only current hero we know of—can’t figure out who that is. But that person or group must’ve had some idea of your inevitable arrival. The only thing stopping me from being entirely convinced of this theory is that they weren’t slowing bullets. How many people know you heal faster than average on top of moving faster?”

“Not many,” he admits suspiciously. “Tails, Bunnie, a few others. And, of course, you. Have we ruled out the possibility of a traitor?”

“No,” the pink-haired woman replies, but her enthusiastic theorizing resumes without hesitation. “But we haven’t ruled out a stalker, either. Have you ever felt like you were being watched?”

Navy laughs. “Uh, yeah. Tails does that all the time. I’ll be chilling on the couch and feel a presence, then glance over to the door and find him poking his head out with this look on his face. It’s adorable… though it did take some time to get used to. Hey, what about a digital stalker?” he deviates, his mind proving it moves faster than average, too. “Like, hidden cameras? Microphones?”

Amy chuckles at his rambling but plays along. “Sure, let’s consider that. How’s your security? Does Tails bring clients’ devices home? And how many guests do you get per… month, let’s say, on average?”

“Security’s souped up thanks to the best mechanic in the world,” Navy brags. He wipes his proud grin off his face and deflates his chest before continuing. “He never brings work home unless they’re personal projects. We rarely get guests, and when we do, they’re good friends, like the D’Coolettes. On average, though… maybe two per month.”

“Probably not a digital attacker, then,” she determines. “At least, not one spying on your home life. How about work? Rivals, enemies… naughty customers?”

Navy chuckles. “You’re the naughtiest customer I’ve ever had,” he quips, then furrows his brow. “Wait, no. Scratch that from the history books,” he shudders. “What’s wrong with me today…?”

She bursts out laughing. “What have I done to get that kind of treatment?”

His face flushes a furious red. “N-nothing! Nothing at all! I just—forget it, okay? I never said that!”

Still giggling, Amy mimics zipping her lips. “Well, you won’t hear it from me.”

Navy clears his throat. “As I was about to say before I so rudely interrupted myself,” he jokes lightly, “I’ve got plenty of enemies. That guy who sent the wasp swarm and Metal Sonic, the gangs, every major criminal I’ve arrested who undoubtedly wants revenge…” he lists, counting on his fingers but quickly abandoning the idea. “You get it. Lots of enemies.”

“Some of those seem leagues more possible than others,” Amy considers, “but let’s move on to rivals. Any of those?”

“Not particularly,” Navy admits. “No unfriendly ones. I had this vigilante I was simultaneously competing with and protecting, but that was a couple years ago. I doubt he’d sell my information—and besides, he didn’t know the half of it. Though I might’ve told him I heal fast….”

“And though that makes him a potential suspect, you don’t think he’d do it?” the woman guesses. “That makes two of us, at least. ‘Rival’ might’ve been a bad angle. Even so, we can’t rule it out just yet.”

Navy sighs. “Maybe we should let these ideas and guesses simmer for a bit longer. I’m exhausted from manually turning the gears in my brain.”

Amy smirks. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you a break. We’re almost to my place now, anyway.”

The hero’s back straightens. “We’re what?” He throws a glance over his shoulder. Not too long ago, they’d trekked through the most dangerous street in the area; now, mere minutes later, she’s telling him they’re to her living space? “I… had no idea you lived so close to danger.”

She shrugs. “The gunshots keep me cautious. I’ve never gotten mugged here—though there have been some attempts. Ever find guys with broken arms here?”

Navy’s jaw goes slack, his eyes widen, and the blood drains from his face. “That was… you?”

She chuckles lightly, acting as though kicking a few butts is no big deal. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised. You just watched me smite a robot in the clouds with a sledgehammer like some kind of valkyrie.”

He laughs weakly. She’s right. Not only did she hit a home run with a violent robot’s noggin, she also just took Navy to her own gun show, displaying the confidence needed to survive on the worst street in the midtown area.

“You’re… terrifying.”

She glances up at him, her expression flickering between a light smile and a concerned frown. But when he grins at her a full, genuine grin, she breaks into one of her own.

“I love that about you,” he finishes.

“Hmm,” she hums, building up a taunt in her head. “I thought you’d spare me the ‘that about’ and just say those three little words. Or are you scared?” she teases with a wink.

His face turns pink again. He rubs his nape and scoffs. “Geez, Ames. Didn’t know you were that desperate to hear it, but if that’s the case, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

“Oh, and saving your life doesn’t get me any appreciation?” she retorts, laughing.

He releases an over-exaggerated sigh. “You’re really begging for it now? Well, fine, then.” He stops and catches her before she moves any farther, then pins her against a wall. “Amy,” he purrs, his voice as deep and sultry as he can make it, “I love—”

Her eyes. She stares up at him through her sparkling green eyes, flickers of confusion, surprise, amusement, excitement, and hope reflecting off every facet of her irises. They’re gorgeous. Mesmerizing. Extremely… distracting. What was I saying…?

Cheek burning, he pulls away. “What I mean—um, that is….”

She scoffs. He looks at her face, hoping to see an easy smirk, but he’s greeted by a pout. “Brave hero, huh? Couldn’t even say it.” She crosses her arms, tosses her hair, and walks with her nose in the air.

“A-Amy…” he calls lamely. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry. I got lost.” He jogs after her until he can reach her hand.

She tugs it away before he can grab it. “You were one word away! How did you get lost?” Her pout is exaggerated, and Navy registers her undertone of humor. He hopes she notices the glint in his eyes.

“I got lost… in your eyes.”

The smile she once held back now bursts out with a torrent of laughter. Navy doubles over with laughter and has to lean against a wall for support. As he’s catching his breath, however, Amy pushes him flat against with a hand on his chest and gets close.

“Sonic,” she whispers, careful to keep his hero name private, “I love you.”

His world stands still. His mouth relaxes into a shocked o shape as his heart rate increases. Hesitantly, his eyes meet hers. Pure joy dances in hers as she smiles. His chest sinks and refuses to rise. She’s radiant, stunning, bold, and beautiful… too much so for him. What business does he have with her?

Her smile shifts to a smirk. “See? It’s not that hard.” Her hand moves from his chest to his chin, tapping it gently and pushing it up ever so slightly.

Navy swallows air in an attempt to gather himself. “You… you suck,” he blurts in another failed attempt. “You didn’t even mean that, did you?”

She laces her hands behind herself and glances over her shoulder at him with feigned innocence. “Oh, you do care!”

At first, Navy tries to build up a good comeback, but his chest deflates again. In that moment, he learns he can feel the blood rushing through his veins, each squeeze of his heart propelling the liquid faster. Staring at Amy makes him feel more alive. It makes his heart race. It warms his blood and body. It makes him happy to be alive and gives him strength to keep going. So instead of pretending to be upset, he just sighs and joins her, a relaxed smile across his lips.

Amy raises an eyebrow at him after a minute. “You’re… not going to say anything?”

He exhales through his nose in a light chuckle. “Nope. No need to.”

She gradually allows herself to smile. “Okay.”

They continue on their walk, both slowing their steps to make the journey talk longer. But before long, Amy recognizes her building and resorts to drastic measures.

She grabs his hand.

Though at first startled, Navy settles into the gesture quickly, his fingers closing around hers gently. He relaxes further—had he known he could, he might’ve sooner—and strokes her thumb with his with a touch lighter than air.

Within seconds, Amy tears her hand away. “Right, um… thanks for walking me home, even if it wasn’t on purpose,” she stammers, rubbing the newly reclaimed hand. “See you around.”

Navy chokes on his words too much to speak until it’s almost too late. “B-bye, Amy,” he murmurs sadly as she opens the door to her apartment complex. She casts him a somber smile before disappearing inside.

If only I could’ve said something. I could’ve… made her stay.

Chapter Text

Silver stumbles through the back door of the candy store, his head still reeling from what Blaze showed him. He drags his feet over to the corner counter and sinks down to the floor to let his brain process everything. He doesn’t notice the new machine, the peppy song playing over the speakers, or the fact that one of the stand mixers is on. Not to mention the figure of his boss standing beside the active mixer, of course.

She was on fire—literally on fire. I’m lucky to be… what, alive? Unharmed? Cold? I’d rather be warm. She’s probably always warm… and come to think of it, she was radiating heat while we were dancing. Looking back, I feel stupid for assuming that was a normal temperature for a demihuman to be, even if she is part cat. Wait… cats are normally warmer, right? Whatever—they don’t normally spontaneously combust, that’s for sure.

“Lost in your thoughts, Silver?”

He slowly lifts his head and blinks at the form in front of him. The song ends, and for a couple of seconds, silence builds around them.

Suddenly, Silver yelps. “Holy macarons! I… didn’t see you th– when did you…?”

Shadow snorts. “I’ve been here since you walked in two minutes ago. Are you okay?”

The teen stabilizes himself on the countertops as he stands. “I’m… as okay as I can be, I guess. Just… shocked.”

“Shocked,” Shadow echoes. “Elaborate…?”

Silver sighs. “I can’t. It’s a secret my friend shared with me. She… she’s been really considerate and open with me, but… I still haven’t…”

“Told her?” his boss guesses. “Sounds about right for you.”

“Y-you don’t even know what—”

“You want to tell her about your ability since she told you about hers, but you’re unsure because you’re scared she’ll either skin you or rat you out.”

Silver stiffens, then deflates. “Stop being right. It’s annoying.”

Shadow scoffs, smirking. “Stop being a wimp first.”

The teen wrinkles his nose at the man. “Stop being a wimp,” he mimics inaccurately. “That’s what you sound like.”

Shadow barks a laugh. “If you’re that worried about it, just do it. From the way you described her, it doesn’t seem like there’s any reason to distrust her.”

Silver sighs and avoids his boss’s eyes. “I… I dunno. She’s great—fantastic, even—but… am I ready to tell anyone?”

“She literally can’t take it worse than I did,” Shadow insists. “I considered… ahem, let’s say, putting you down.”

Silver recoils. “You were gonna kill me?”

“I was not going to ,” the man corrects sternly, a hint of annoyance in his words. “I thought about it.”

He squints at him. “… Why?”

Shadow presses his back against the counter, arms crossed, and sighs. “Thought you might be dangerous. Luckily for you, you quickly proved me wrong.”

Silver shudders. “Yeah, real lucky. I didn’t even know I was at risk.” Then, under his breath, he adds, “Jerk.”

Shadow’s ear twitches, but he ignores the boy’s insult. “You’re lucky in a lot of ways, Silver. You were born with telekinetic abilities, you know better than to be cruel—” he pauses to let the emphasis sink in— “and you’re unconditionally friendly, even when it makes you uncomfortable. There’s a reason I don’t make you run things out front, but if I did, I know you’d do well.”

“Except I’d probably have a nervous breakdown the second a rude customer shows up,” the teen grumbles.

“And that’s why I don’t make you do it,” Shadow chuckles dryly. “You don’t believe in yourself.”

“And what if I did one day?” Silver retorts. “What if I wake up one day with the social skills of the mayor? The confidence of… I dunno, Sonic?”

Shadow bristles. “First of all, don’t say that vigilante’s name in this kitchen,” he chastises. “Secondly, that won’t happen. And finally, nothing else would change.”

Silver perks up. “Why not?”

“You never said you’d like social interaction in this hypothetical,” he points out. “Besides, you’re efficient back here.”

“And why not mention Son—I mean, that vigilante?”

The man’s arms tense up. “I don’t believe he’s as good as people say. You’d make a better hero, even—I mean, you’ve got actual powers. What’s he got? Fast footing and a cocky grin, that’s what.”

Silver snickers. “I don’t think I’ve seen you so peeved before,” he comments.

“Hmph,” his boss replies. “He’s the mayor’s pet and a showoff. Why shouldn’t I be peeved? I’d do twice what he does, and I’ve got a business and a kid. What’s his excuse—rocks in his shoes?”

The teen bursts out laughing. “You really hate this guy, huh?”

Shadow nods. “Whatever he does in the daytime, it’s probably as annoying as him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were one of those sales reps who follow people around in shopping malls.”

Silver howls with laughter. “And what, I’m not that annoying?” he jokes, wiping a tear from his eye, the occasional giggle hissing through his teeth.

“Not quite there yet,” Shadow assures him, a lopsided grin forming on his face. “And anyway, I’m sure you know I’m not the only one who hates him. Many disapprove of his constant tomfoolery. I’m just one of the few willing to shout it from my soapbox.”

“Soap…?” Silver starts to ask, but he swallows the question. “Um… do you really think I’d be a good hero?”

“Of course,” Shadow replies instantly. “You could save more people in a single second than that faker can in a week . The only problem is that I would lose a great employee.”

Silver snorts. “You seem to be fine with taking matters into your own hands,” he observes, gesturing to the running mixer. “Is that one of my recipes? And is it… going to turn into butter?”

Shadow’s eyebrows knit together briefly before he gasps and rushes over to the mixing bowl. Silver barely hears something he assumes to be a nasty set of swear words before the mixer powers off. A few seconds of silence follow before his boss sighs.

“I… don’t suppose you can still use this?”

Silver chuckles as Shadow hands him the bowl. “I’ll find a way.”

“Like I said,” the man grumbles, clicking his tongue, “I’d lose a great employee. I have no idea what I’m doing in this place.”

The teen laughs. “What did you do without me?”

“Dream,” Shadow growls. “Foolishly.”

“It’s never foolish to dream,” Silver disagrees, grinning sagely. He scoops some of the sugary who-knows-what out of the bowl and tastes it. “Oh, yum. I’m not sure what recipe you used, but this is great. Give yourself a little credit, huh?”

Shadow frowns. “I’m sure that’s not what it was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not always about presentation. Sure, that’s what gets the average consumer to buy, but it’s the taste that’s most important. And, like, ingredients, I guess.” He snickers. “Well, anyway, I think I can incorporate this into a special or something—”

“Take it home,” Shadow interrupts with a wave of his hand. It’s not dismissive or rude—though it’s certainly tired—but instead comes from a place of care. “Your siblings will probably like it. There’s nothing raw or alcoholic in there, so it should be safe, too.”

Silver smiles warmly. “Oh… thanks! I was gonna whip up some scones to go with it, if that’s okay,” he requests.

“Not a problem at all. Just make sure to service the shop, too. Ask Sam what’s in stock,” the boss instructs as he ascends the staircase to his living space.

Like the good employee he is, Silver does as he’s told. He makes a list of confections to make and gets to work. All the while, under the whirring of whisks and ringing of timers, his mind still struggles through winds of uncertainty and stress. Questions circle his core like vultures in the desert. But for now, work must come first.

Chapter Text

Navy spends the afternoon sulking. Sure, he’s considered visiting Miles or checking in with the candy store, but he’s too disappointed in himself to move. But when evening comes, he forces himself to get up, shake off his shame, and don his hero suit. As he launches into action at the first sign of trouble, he notices how peaceful the city is tonight. He crosses his fingers and hopes things will stay calm.

But, of course, they never do.

Two attempted robberies and four near muggings later, his fingers are getting tired and sore from being crossed. His legs have warmed up significantly from all the running, though, and the heat keeps him elastic and prepared for the worst. Whatever the night throws at him, he’ll be ready.

The minute he fully convinces himself of his ability to handle anything—about seven hours later—an unfamiliar alarm bombards his ears. He spins around to locate its source. Before long, he realizes it’s coming from his helmet.

His Tails-tech helmet.

Tails.

His heart launches into overdrive as his legs pump harder than ever before. He’s on the other side of town; if Sonic doesn’t stretch past his limits, he might not make it in time. But his friend—his brother—being in peril is just the motivation he needs to break the sound barrier.

His ears and lungs scream in pain. Glass shatters around him as the boom crashes through the city. His throat strains with a noise he can’t hear, but whether it’s silent or piercing remains unknown to him. Even as every muscle and second burns from strain and anticipation, he pushes himself to go faster than he’s ever believed he could go.

The stench of burning rubber trails him as he screeches to a halt behind the mechanic’s shop. Through the open garage door, he gets a perfect view of the reason Miles contacted him. There, in the middle of the workshop, two massive humanoid robots grip the young fox-boy’s limbs and suspend him in the air, tugging him back and forth as he squirms.

Sonic slams into one of the bots and rips its wiring out of its titanium shell. He catches Miles while kicking the other robot across the room. When the second foe doesn’t get up, he wraps Miles into the tightest burrito-style hug he can manage.

“Are you okay?” he squeaks out, barely able to force the air out of his burning lungs.

The teen nods. “A little bruised, but I’m fine.”

Sonic pulls back and grabs him by the shoulders. “Hide. Get somewhere safe. And… where are the others?”

“They haven’t come in yet,” Miles explains. “It’s too early, and Bunnie especially needs her rest.”

Sonic glances out the open door to the bright dawn sky. “Right. I must’ve lost track of time, huh?” He chuckles breathlessly. “I hope those two mechanical monstrosities were—”

A terribly timed explosion cuts him off. Without a moment’s hesitation, he launches into action, turning back only to reiterate to Miles his earlier commands. He sprints across the city in search of the unsettling sound’s source. The closer he gets, the more nauseated he feels; the stench of smoke assaults his nostrils. But that’s how he knows he’s on the right track.

Sirens wail as he arrives on the scene. An apartment building is caught in an inferno, a giant hole in its side, while a bank a block away sits in a similarly sorry state, great clouds of black smoke billowing from its illegal renovation. To other bystanders, the case probably looks open-and-shut: it’s clearly a bank heist gone wrong. But something rubs Sonic the wrong way. The vault a robber might seek to blow open isn’t on the outside of the building, after all. How would explosives get flung so far off course that they’d end up outside in the wall of a completely different building a block away?

Sonic doesn’t wait for the paramedics to arrive. The fire and holes aren’t the only signs of trouble; victims limp away from the apartments assisted by witnesses, bystanders, or family. Some lie on the ground and breathe in shallow gasps while others are dragged out, seemingly lifeless. The apartment complex is large, however, and the small crowd on the sidewalks just outside isn’t enough to fill its lobby, let alone its many capsules.

He springs into action. First, he assesses the condition of the building in a blink—is it going to fall on him if he moves too quickly or touches it too firmly? Next, he uses his body as a barrier between the broken wall and the bystanders, accompanying his actions with verbal commands to skedaddle. He hopes that citizens somehow unaware of the peril they were in will realize it due to the orders barked by a hero. To his relief, it works.

As the crowds shrink away, Sonic zips inside. His upgraded helmet picks up the smallest of sounds and he follows them, finding and rescuing dozens of civilians in a matter of minutes. Due to being an average size, he can only juggle one or two people at a time, but his speed more than makes up for that limitation.

Once a good portion of the building is clear, the hero combs through the floors more thoroughly. Maybe someone lost hope and gave up on yelling; maybe someone’s in a deep sleep. Either way, there might not be anyone left there before long if Sonic doesn’t help. He opens every door, scours every room, yells for survivors until his throat gives out. He finds a few more people and turns them over to the paramedics, but after his third trip with this new strategy, every room turns up empty. But he can’t sit back until every single one is double-checked.

Halfway through, a pressing distraction pulls him away from his usual procedure. Another explosion rings out from a distant block.

Sonic’s first thought? This can’t be a coincidence.  

He zooms down the fire escape and in the direction of the sound. This can’t be good, he repeats in his mind as his feet and heart work overtime. As he guides himself toward the pillar of smoke rising in the sky, his heart sinks. He knows this street. He’s been here before. Many times, in fact.

Maria’s.

For what feels like the hundredth time today, Sonic pushes himself to go faster. When the whistling of the wind in his ears stops sounding like much of anything, though, he reigns in his speed to prevent breaking more windows with a sonic boom. He’s desperate and impatient, but safety has to remain his number one priority. The little candy store can wait one more second… can’t it?

He approaches the smoke and skids to a stop, relief and panic flowing in and out of his lungs with every breath. Maria’s isn’t on fire, but its neighbor is. If Sonic doesn’t stop the flames, his favorite workplace may very well burn. And so, he goes through his procedure again: clear the area, evacuate the building, and control the situation until the firefighters arrive.

But every time he settles one incident, another flares up. By the fourth explosion, Sonic has the procedure done in seconds and begins scouting for the next possible attack point. That’s when he sees the source.

Backtracking isn’t his favorite thing to do—efficiency is much more satisfying in the grand scheme, especially when the tasks are short or easy—but in this case, it’s beyond necessary. Just a couple blocks down from Maria’s are some apartment buildings. Above those apartments floats a strange, egg-shaped mass. To say it raises a red flag in Sonic’s head is an understatement—it sets off air raid sirens and deploys a combative force spiraling through his throbbing veins. He should be exhausted by now, but adrenaline and concentrated spite keep him upright.

He rushes across the rooftops to investigate the egg—which, upon further inspection, is half machine and half man—and prevent another disaster. As he approaches, he realizes there’s someone inside the egg who’s yelling at the paramedics below. Suddenly realizing he may have misunderstood the situation, he hides behind a roof’s access door and listens. But it doesn’t take long to figure out they’re not having a peaceful, cooperative chat. In fact, the egg-man is threatening to drop another bomb and doesn’t seem to believe the first responders are complying, despite their insistence that they are. It makes Sonic’s blood boil.

“Hey, egghead!” Sonic taunts, stepping into the morning light with clenched fists. “Try picking on someone your own size!”

“And who might that be?” the grumpy man grunts, scowling at the hero. “Certainly not you.”

Sonic rolls his eyes. “Sure, but no matter how round you get, you’re not the size of the city, so make like an egg and beat it.”

The man grins behind his giant mustache. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

The hero’s eyes widen. “No, like—ugh, I hate you already,” he groans, then stomps. “I meant leave, not become the egg beater.”

The villain sticks his nose in the air. “I know, I just don’t care. If you’re going to keep being this annoying, though, I might as well target you first!”

Before Sonic can register what’s going on, a wrecking ball drops from the bottom of the floating egg-mobile and slams into him, knocking him to the next roof down the lane. He sputters and struggles to rise, then barely avoids another attack in the nick of time by abandoning his footing and rolling. The maniacal man cackles as his wrecking ball crashes through brick structures like they’re made of salt, and Sonic can’t stop himself from gagging.

The hero finally rises to his feet. “Can you get any more sickening?” he taunts, retching more dramatically. “Your breath reeks of sulfur and your tactics are tacky. At least try to be creative! Or did you read The Big Book of Villain Stereotypes and pick your favorites?”

The egg zooms toward the cocky, battered hero, but this time, he’s ready for it. He jumps onto the chain and tugs at one of the links to test its sturdiness. Upon finding out it’s uncharacteristically up to OSHA standards, he climbs it instead. There’s not much room to squeeze himself into inside of the egg, but there’s just enough space for the wrecking ball. And, luckily for Sonic, he’s a professional at curling himself into a ball.

A string of muffled, confused words flows from the villain’s mouth, but Sonic can’t understand even one. He snickers… until the wrecking ball starts coming back up. He grabs at the mechanism to stop the gears from turning, but when his fingers narrowly avoid getting pinched, he bails. There’s just enough room for his fit form to squeeze through once again, and he plops onto the ground with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.

Frustrated insults fly from the egg-man but narrowly miss Sonic due to his lack of concern. “You seem a little hangry,” Sonic notes, feigning innocence. “Maybe we should grab some lunch, calm ourselves down, stop destroying buildings. It’s getting a little old, don’tcha think?”

The villain growls. “Speak for yourself, rodent. This miserable city needs a makeover, and I’m an expert in that field.”

Sonic gasps in mock excitement. “Oh! I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of a fashionista!”

“Shut your mouth, you babbling bother!” the man roars. “I don’t have time to play games with children. Go find a playmate your… size, let’s say.” His sickening grin returns.

“Using my comeback against me,” the hero drawls. “How creative.”

“My creativity is reserved for my plans for the city,” his opponent cackles.

“Ugh,” Sonic groans. “I’m sick of trying to talk to you. All you do is hype yourself up and get more evil. It’s gross.” He jumps up to the edge of the vehicle where the machine ends and the man completes the egg shape. “And you know what happens to gross things.”

“They get wiped away,” the villain responds darkly, pressing a button. Two windshield wipers with claws on the ends emerge from the lining on the metal eggshell and grab at Sonic. The hero barely dodges their sharp edges, and they clamp down on air as he disappears. Upon pressing another button, the villain gets covered by a rounded glass shield, completing the eggy look.

“You’re one rotten yolk, Eggman,” Sonic spits. “Did you not have anyone to care about you as a kid, or are you some crazed psychopath?”

“I’m just a man,” the man insists with all the drama of a ten-year-old in a candy aisle. He opens the glass shield and bows with a flourish. “I’ll be back to eliminate the pests from this city—you can trust me on that.”

Sonic hurls a brick at the egg, but the shield closes again and the villain flies away, cackling his annoying, owl-like laugh the whole way into the sky. The hero glares after him.

Then, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He knows that laugh.

He doesn’t have time to register this revelation before another explosion rings out, this one dangerously close.

Chapter Text

Far too early in the morning, Silver awoke. He didn’t know why. He just knew he couldn’t go back to sleep because of the sick feeling in his stomach.

None of his siblings were awake, nor was Lucky. He didn’t mind. He’d be back soon enough, maybe even on his lunch break. And so he left without saying goodbye.

Now, he regrets that decision.

Ten minutes ago, an explosion shook Maria’s as he worked in the kitchen. He didn’t know what the last booming noise was—he’d thought it was just construction. Now he knows better. Now he knows to be afraid.

While Silver and Maria huddle in a corner, Shadow stands in front of them, a pistol in one hand and a makeshift riot shield in the other. Maria cries into Silver’s shirt while he holds back tears of his own. Shouts ring out from the streets, barking orders and requests between blasts of water from the fire truck’s hose. All the customers and front-of-house employees evacuated just after the blast.

Days could be passing by and Silver wouldn’t be surprised. Even though more explosions have shattered the silence, Maria calms down at some point. The noises all around have calmed, save for the shouting, and Shadow’s tense stance has eased up slightly.

Silver shifts. “I should… make sure my family’s okay,” he decides, his body creaking as he moves. He’s been still for so long that his joints have gone stiff.

“It’s not safe yet,” Shadow insists, blocking the boy with his shield.

“I need to make sure my siblings are okay,” Silver restates, his voice rough as he enunciates urgently. He’s standing now, Maria cowering behind him with wide eyes, and Shadow’s eyes flit between the two indecisively.

Finally, the man sighs. “Go. Be quick.”

Silver nods and kicks off the wall, then stumble-runs through the kitchen as fast as his shaky legs will let him. He faintly hears Maria whimper and Shadow hush her soothingly, and his lungs take a huge, involuntary gulp of air. I’m coming, guys , he promises, wishing he’d stayed with them. They’re probably terrified, huddling around Lucky with tears in their eyes, calling for him with what could be their final breaths…

He shakes the morbid thoughts away. They’re fine , he forces himself to remember. The explosion was closer to Maria’s than home.

He bursts through the formerly glass door, which is now relieved of its glass, and sprints across the street to take the shortcut between buildings. Usually, the alleys are too sketchy, but with the danger on this street, Silver figures they’ll be pretty dead. Besides, these days, alleys remind him of Blaze—

An eardrum-rupturing boom shakes the world. The ground comes up to meet Silver’s chin as his breath and hearing leaves him. His throat burns and tingles with vibrations he’s sure he’s sending through it as he coughs and cries out, but his ears only pick up a deep, overwhelming ringing. His hands and legs have lost feeling. As he squirms to get to his feet, he lifts his eyes to the darkened sky above him. But the darkness is not due to a coming storm. Something is falling. Something heavy .

He braces for the inevitable impact, but it never comes. Instead, a pressure on his ribs and a rush of air at his back startle him out of his frozen state. The ringing has faded just enough for him to hear bricks pounding against the ground, crushing each other as more join the pile.

His eyes wander from the direction of the sound to the source of another. There, he sees the hero, Sonic, gazing at him through his visor. The pressure and wind must’ve been Sonic saving Silver’s life. Silver’s eyes widen as he realizes what happened. “Thank you,” he blurts, his throat hoarse and voice undoubtedly louder than he thinks it is. “You saved my life. Thank you.” He hugs the hero as tears start streaming down his face.

To his confusion and embarrassment, Sonic tears him off. But as the hero runs away, Silver understands the sudden movement. The building Silver was just walking next to is engulfed in flames, and as his ears adjust, he begins to hear screams. These screams aren’t one high-pitched, continuous note—they’re rough, sobbing, blood-curdling cries for one last chance.

His eyes dart down the street. The building he lives in is untouched; his siblings are fine. More important now is the scene unfolding in front of him. People are dying . He can’t imagine how many innocent children just like his siblings and Maria are in that building, crying over their parents’ bodies or cowering from flames. Was the attack on the school not enough? How many horrors must this city face?

He stands. His knees threaten to give out at any moment, but he supports them with his telekinesis. Soon, he finds his whole body is floating. Someone has to do something , he decides, taking a deep breath of the foul-smelling air. He doesn’t even want to know what’s burning to produce that stench, but he’ll do what he can to prevent more damage. Without further adieu, he propels himself into the fray.

He lifts piles of debris and organizes them on the ground to take their weight off the sagging supports of the affected buildings. He gathers a puddle from the firefighters’ hoses and uses it to douse a nearby flame, then shifts a dresser out of the way to find a child huddling with a little stuffed toy. He lifts the kid and smiles reassuringly before setting the terrified pair on the street corner where a family with other children immediately congregates. After ensuring the child’s safety, Silver continues dismantling the loose bricks and boards and searching for more survivors.

He lifts a rather large portion of the floor and comes face to face—rather, face to helmet —with what’s below: Sonic.

The speedy hero startles upon seeing him. “What are you doing?” he shouts over the sounds of rushing water and debilitating sadness. To Silver’s confusion, he doesn’t sound grateful—more… annoyed?

“Helping,” Silver replies questioningly. “Why?”

“Do it faster .”

Silver’s insides flinch like a guitar string just broke inside him. He’s beginning to see Shadow’s point; who does this demi-hedgehog think he is? It’s another demi-hedgie he’s talking to, so why’s he acting like he’s better than him?

The teen sighs. Can’t please everyone. But I’m sure there’s a good reason for this. He’s probably just stressed with all this nonsense. I would be, too, if I were the sole hero around here.

With the benefit of the doubt now given to Sonic, Silver obeys and scoops up more chunks of debris, though he still takes enough time to sift through them for survivors or… bodies . His stomach drops when he finds his first corpse, but he doesn’t have time to linger on it. He surrounds it with a makeshift brick barricade so that passersby—especially children—won’t lay eyes on the forming pile. Sleep won’t come easily to him tonight, but for his sake as well as the residents of this building, he has to work faster.

Faster.

Faster!

His eyes, hands, mind, heart all work faster. He grabs and lifts debris, scans it for flesh, and places it in an alley while he picks up another pile and repeats. A throbbing headache seeps through his skull, silent and dull at first, but it soon becomes crippling. He can hardly hold himself up, but he has to keep going.

As Sonic emerges with what might be his thirtieth load of survivors, Silver floats to the ground and collapses. His bird’s-eye view was ideal, but his strength is sapped. He watches the blue blur zip back into the building without a glance at his fallen comrade or a moment’s hesitation. Even with the apparent lack of concern for him, Silver is still proud. The hero’s doing what heroes do; there’s no time to dilly-dally.

The same goes for me, doesn’t it? I should be doing more. I should be in there, passing people through windows and doors into safety. I should help. I need to—

Something pushes Silver forward. He gasps as his train of thought derails, the sudden sensation as shocking as if that train had been a gravy train that just spilled hot gravy all over his lap. But instead of scalding heat, comforting warmth envelops him from behind. A sniffle betrays its source.

“Thank you,” a tiny voice whimpers in his ear. “You saved my life.”

Silver’s body gradually relaxes as the child repeats her thanks.

The family who had come to comfort her praises Silver and comforts him. Soon, he’s lying on the ground, tears streaming down his face, his arms and hands being held by the grateful group. The stress was almost too much for him to handle, but as he relaxes beside his first rescue, the vessel holding that tension cracks and releases the pent-up emotions in the form of sobs.

A few minutes later, though, he’s back on his feet. It’s funny how far just a little bit of appreciation can bring someone. With the affirmations of the family and the little survivor, Silver’s ready to rumble again. Is he sore, tired, overwhelmed? Sure. But he’s not giving up.

Without so much as a second thought, he dashes into the building.

His first discovery is how hot it is inside. It’s like an oven, but the stench is off-putting. It’s like if someone were to set popcorn to pop all night. His second discovery, however, is far darker. That’s not popcorn; he’s just learned what burning flesh smells like.

He steps over bricks and limbs, trying to forget which is which. His main goal is to find Sonic again, help him carry survivors and corpses, and make it through the rest of the work day. His fingertips tingle the more he uses his powers, his body unaccustomed to lifting so many heavy things at once and in such quick succession. His arms droop heavily and his head throbs. Even shielding himself from the flames is bringing back his exhaustion; how can he expect himself to thrive as a hero when he can hardly handle a few minutes of this?

Just as he’s about to drop his shield and leave, he nearly runs headfirst into Sonic. The hero’s treads seem to be impeccable—despite his constant sprinting—as he stops in his tracks and only loses his balance for a moment.

Instead of ordering Silver to help or handing off his load, Sonic lowers his face as if to glare at him. “Get out of the way,” he grumbles.

Silver, stunned, forgets how to move for a second before jumping to the side to let Sonic and the survivors on his shoulders through. Without another word, the hero slides past him.

Just as Sonic enters the next room, though, a worrying groan sounds out from above. Silver turns around just in time to see the ceiling buckle. Fiery debris and ash rains down, the most concentrated of the mess just above Sonic. The teen stumbles in, half frozen, indecisive, and panicking more with every nanosecond that passes.

With no other options, Silver turns his anxious brain off and extends his hands.

He crashes to the ground in unison with the debris… or, at least, he should’ve. The loud crash he’d been expecting never comes. But his head feels like someone shot his brain in five places and his elbows threaten to fold like origami, so he assumes he’s done something awesome. He glances up and finds every piece of the building avalanche highlighted in the signature cyan of his telekinesis. It’s a brilliant contrast to the fiery vermillions all around. It’s just a shame Silver can’t enjoy it as much with all the weight on his mind.

Sonic seizes the moment and runs the survivors to safety, leaving Silver alone in the inferno and shaking from the strain. He can hardly hold the ceiling as more debris breaks off the walls due to the sudden shift and tumbles into the makeshift net of the collapsed floor. If he lets go now, nobody else will get hurt; he’s the only one in the way. Every second, the flames to his sides creep closer, his arms get weaker, and his breaths become shorter and harder to take in. He struggles to get his feet under himself. The weight on his mind flows through his body and tightens around him like a springform pan. Every new moment finds his arms, chest, and head pleading louder and louder.

Underneath the creaking, crumbling, and burning of everything around him, Silver hears a faint, rhythmic tapping coming from behind him. He twists his whole body to see its source, but his “grip” on the ceiling fumbles. The heat from its inferno sinks ever closer to his wild hair, nearly singeing the tips. He lets out a strained war cry as he struggles to lift everything again.

Just as Silver’s vision fades, someone tugs him out of the room and farther into the building. He lands with his back to the wall and hurriedly covers his face as embers and ashes whirl toward him. His focus broke; he dropped the load. But he survived. Thanks to… who? He glances over.

A laugh sneaks past his defenses. “My hero again, huh?” he remarks, standing shakily and massaging his arms. “Thanks, Sonic.”

“You need a mentor if you’re going to be a hero,” Sonic informs him. “You don’t just get that way overnight.”

“Are you suggesting—?”

“Why didn’t you just move the whole pile over?” he asks suddenly, his tone suggesting that his solution is obvious.

“I could hardly hold it up, let alone move each half independently without dropping stuff and getting a mouthful of household ash,” Silver snaps. “But hey, if you want to give me tips on my lifelong telekinesis, be my guest.”

Sonic turns away. “I’m… sorry.” He sighs. “Look, I… I don’t want this for you. You don’t want this, I’m sure. But if you somehow decide you do—”

A piercing screech cuts him off. A child, probably no older than ten, has begun screaming bloody murder from somewhere above them. Sonic doesn’t waste another moment, speeding up the stairs at the first opportunity. The fire seems to ignore him, focusing instead of eating up drywall and wood. Seconds later, Sonic returns with the child, who’s balled up and whimpering. “Let’s go,” he orders Silver. “Make a path for us.”

Silver nods and strains his weakened body and mind to part the sea of debris. Once a path is clear, the heroes jog through and emerge… and not a moment too soon. The building groans, and Sonic roars at everyone nearby to stand back. He grabs Silver by the collar and throws him to the ground behind a fire truck in the nick of time. Silver, indignant at first, now finds himself holding his breath as a barrage of dust particles flows around the truck as the building collapses with a deafening sound.

As the dust begins to settle—that is, when no more dust is actively joining the party—Sonic darts into Maria’s and looks around. Silver joins him promptly.

“This sums it up,” Sonic sighs. “The damage done.”

“Aside from the pile of bricks behind us,” Silver remarks with feigned dismissal.

Sonic snorts. “Nobody’s counting that.”

The kitchen entry door bursts open, and Shadow marches through with a red and orange mask over his nose and mouth and the pistol in hand. “Sonic,” he growls. “Just what do you think you’re doing in here?”

“Uh, hero-ing?” the blue blur responds with critical levels of sass. “What’re you doing in here? It’s not all that safe right now. You can’t kill dust particles, y’know,” he reminds him, gesturing to the gun.

Shadow points the gun at Sonic.

Silver jumps in front. “W-wait!”

Shadow falters, lowering the firearm for a second. “Get out of the way, Silver. He’s not going to die; he’s got a bulletproof costume.”

“He saved my life—and so many others! Would you really put him out of commission just for stepping foot in your broken storefront?” He balls up his fists. “I’m not moving.”

“Then I will,” Sonic chuckles, stepping aside. “Shads, you oughta know I’m harmless. And that big of a gun just for li’l old me? Why, I’m flattered.”

Shadow swallows a gag. “Get out,” he rumbles. Distant thunder shakes the sky as he and his gun glower at the hero. “Or I won’t aim for your vest.”

Sonic sighs. “You’ve never been any fun.” He strolls out through the broken door.

Shadow’s glare deepens, but he lowers the gun. As soon as Sonic disappears around the corner, Shadow descends into a coughing fit. Silver scrambles over debris to reach his boss and puts a hand on his shoulder, but Shadow swipes it away.

“Don’t say anything,” he growls. “This is unrelated.”

“I’d be coughing, too, even with a mask like that,” Silver assures him. “There’s too much dust. Anyway, how’s Maria?”

Shadow flinches, then stands and crashes through the door to check on his daughter. Silver slides through while the door’s open and watches as Shadow slides on his knees to scoop the little girl into his arms. Maria clings to her dad like a cold stick of butter to a whisk.

Silver stands a short distance away with his arms crossed around himself. His head’s still reeling and dizzy, and so much so that just standing there is a mammoth task. He’s too exhausted to admit he’s tired.

Shadow turns from his daughter briefly to address Silver. “And how are your siblings?”

The teen snaps out of his brain-dead trance. He never got time to check on his family amidst the chaos. But then again, he didn’t need to. “The building’s intact. They’re probably scared, but—”

“Go to them,” Shadow orders. “Before you regret it.”

Silver’s eyes widen. His mouth forms words he doesn’t understand as the ringing returns to his ears. He vaguely feels the wind rushing through his hair as his legs pump beneath him, carrying him home.

Home.

Chapter Text

Since the explosions, Silver’s done his best to throw himself into his work. His siblings are fine, busy with school and bragging to their friends about how close they came to getting blown up, and Lucky manages to keep their potentially insensitive comments in check when she can despite her exhaustion and stress. But for the entire week, Silver has preferred to stay in the shop due to the gnawing sensation in his gut that comes whenever he sees his front door. His mind doesn’t have to work too hard to come up with excuses to stay late and leave early, though. He just hopes the feeling fades before long.

But today has another plan for him.

In the middle of his usual working whirlwind, Silver hears a sound that freezes him in place. He sets what he can on the counters before whipping around and grinning innocently to greet whoever opened the door.

Inexplicably, it’s… Blaze?

“Silver,” she murmurs. Navy lingers behind her and flashes a thumbs-up. Silver suddenly wants to break his thumb.

Silver’s heart slowly sinks as he takes in the expression on her face. He gestures for Navy to leave, then approaches Blaze. “Hey,” he replies, his voice barely audible over the mixers.

“Could you—?” Blaze mentions, pointing to the machines.

Silver jolts and hurries over to one of them.

“I meant with your powers.”

The boy stops in his tracks. Heart racing, he relaxes into a standing position and turns off the mixers with a snap of his fingers. His head hangs slightly as he begins to turn back around. “Blaze, if I’d—”

“I just want to know why you didn’t tell me,” she sighs. “Why did I have to watch the news to find out?”

“The news?” Silver blurts. “Wait, I was on the news?”

“All over it,” she confirms.

Silence falls on the two, the only sound being the soft pop playing from the speakers. Soon enough, though, that fades away too. Silver bites his lip, then exhales and rubs his face. “I never meant to hide it from you,” he explains. “I just… I wasn’t sure how to tell you. Yours is different in so many ways; if you had questions about mine, I wouldn’t know how to answer.”

“Let’s talk through it, then,” she suggests, her tone more strained than her face. She swallows hard. “Could I… get some water?”

Silver reaches into the fridge with his mind and grabs a bottle of water. “I’m sorry. I should’ve offered.”

“Fire and water don’t usually mix,” she quips weakly, a limp smile smearing itself across her lips. “It’s fine.”

He turns to face her fully as she cracks open the lid and takes a swig. “I should’ve told you.”

She shrugs, swallowing her mouthful of water. “Maybe, maybe not. You weren’t obligated to. I just…” she trails off, then sighs in frustration. “Listen, I trust you a lot. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time. I feel stupid for it. But… I’ve never felt like it was misplaced. I just want you to feel the same.”

“And I do,” Silver blurts. “I do. But I’m a kid. I’m scared. I’m stupid,” he chuckles. “But I love you, I do. As—uh, as a friend, of course.” He tugs at his shirt collar and clears his throat, his eyes darting away.

She half laughs, half sighs. “I love you, too. If we… if we hadn’t parted ways so fast in the alley, would you have told me?”

He forces his eyes to land on her again. “Maybe. I was more scared back then, though. If you’d asked, I probably wouldn’t have been able to hold it back, but I’m so painfully normal on the outside,” he laughs.

“Said the boy with white hair,” Blaze scoffs.

“Said the girl with purple hair,” Silver retorts, grinning.

“Touché.”

His smile fades after a moment. “I’ll… tell you everything. Everything I know.”

“I’d like that,” Blaze responds with a soft, thankful smile. “I’m sorry if I pushed you—”

“Not at all!” Silver interrupts, taking two big steps toward her and taking her hand. “Don’t say that. I should’ve told you long ago.” Their hands hang loosely in front of them, swinging gently. Their eyes stay locked on each other. Their mouths curl into easy smiles.

As if the moment weren’t intense yet heartwarming, Blaze releases Silver’s hand and takes a breath. “Go ahead, then,” she prompts.

Silver blinks at her as if waking from a trance, then shuffles over to lean on a counter. “There’s… not much else to tell, to be honest. I was born with this power, and neither of my parents knew why—neither of them had magic hands,” he snorts. “They taught me to control it as well as they could, though. My skills really started picking up when they had more kids and I had to help. I started cooking and baking to help them save time. I could already read and measure decently, so eventually, they just left me unattended, and I ruled that kitchen!” He pauses to chuckle again, then sighs. “After we all got handed over to Lucky, though, she assigned us jobs, and mine… mine was to find ‘real’ work. I was barely old enough—not even, actually—and I had to get special papers and stuff from the government to work, which took a while. Luckily, I found Maria’s the day Shadow started hiring. I only worked up the courage to go and talk to him the next day, though.”

“Question,” Blaze interjects. “Sorry if this is off topic, but… why did your parents hand you off?”

“’Cause they died.”

Blaze leans against the counter next to him.

“I got a lot more practice here at work, but I still wasn’t lifting anything heavier than a big bag of flour. So when I had to step up the other day…” he sighs. “It was messy. I almost died. Got worn out too fast, and… yeah. I’m glad Sonic was there. He saved my life—twice.” He falls silent for a moment before his face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait, I never saw any cameras. How did the news catch any of that?”

“Maybe you were distracted,” Blaze theorizes. “I wouldn’t blame you. It looked like the crew was on the ground, but there was some aerial footage, too.”

Silver hums and nods. “My ears were ringing basically the whole time. I probably wouldn’t have noticed a helicopter.”

Blaze winces. “You… must’ve been pretty close to a couple of the explosions, huh?”

“Yeah. You saw the wreckage out front; they’re still debating repairing the one next door. Shadow thinks he might buy the property if they don’t—not that Maria’s needs an expansion, but it might be nice to have a bigger cafe area. Maybe we’d even sell drinks.”

“That would be a great strategy. The beverage business is booming right now,” Blaze adds. “I’d offer assistance, but the only help I can give is monetary. Unfortunately, drinks fall under the ‘cooking’ category in my clumsy hands.” She sighs and rubs her head. “I’ve burnt smoothies before. And you don’t want to know how.”

Silver’s eyes strain to read her expression. “But… I kinda do.”

She snorts. “You don’t. Trust me.”

“I’ll ask later, then,” he teases, elbowing her gently and nodding when she shakes her head.

Blaze puts her hands on the counter behind her and lets her shoulders slump. “I should… I should probably get to work,” she sighs, her hesitance and disappointment crystal clear.

Silver shifts his hands to match hers. “Well, you don’t have–” he starts, but as he moves, his fingers brush over hers. They’re standing closer than he realized.

Their eyes meet as briefly as their fingers in the fraction of a second before he tears his hand away. Awkward laughter fills the room, punctuated by a few breaths sucked in through their teeth. When he can’t take the heat of the tension anymore, he continues his blubbering. “Yeah, no, you’re probably right. I mean, you’d know your schedule better than I do, so… if you think so. If you say so. You know best.”

Overlapping with Silver’s awkward rant by only a few syllables comes a flurry of excuses from Blaze: “No, I don’t have to get there just yet, and today probably won’t be super busy. And it’s not like I want to talk to angry customers, either, so…. Yeah, I think we’re good. Unless you want me gone—”

“No!” Silver blurts, springing off the counter and spinning to face her. “No, no, I’d love for you to stay!” His smile twitches awkwardly and his face burns bright red as his hands seek out her forearms.

Her eyes twinkle as she ponders what to do, but as Silver gently lifts her hands from the counter, she grins at the floor in surrender. “A few more minutes,” she decides.

“Few more minutes?” Silver echoes excitedly.

“Just a few,” Blaze confirms, chuckling. “Ah, it’s that face—I just can’t say no to that… face.”

Silver bites his lip to resist the biggest smile he’s ever felt tugging at his lips. Whatever she’d prevented herself from saying must’ve been an aggressive but affectionate adjective, and although he’s curious, the young chef holds his tongue. Instead of saying something he’ll regret, he cutely frames his face and blinks with all the innocence he can muster. As intended and expected, Blaze laughs her adorable, snorty laugh.

Gosh, I love her.

Before his face betrays his thoughts, he glances away, but his goofy grin remains. When the air stills in a second of silence, he risks a gander at her face only to find her still staring at him. He recoils and covers his face, sputtering. “Stop looking at me!” he guffaws, turning redder. “I’m shy!”

“Well, Shy , why don’t you show me what you can do?” Blaze teases, guiding Silver over to one of the machines across the room. “I want to know how to not blow up a kitchen every time I touch it.”

He chortles as she steers him, still unable to look at her without blushing and internally hitting himself. But he finds that, as he works, those feelings of adoration calm into contentment and warmth. Even when she messes up a recipe when he gives her the chance to try it out, he’s still hopelessly lovestruck.

But there’s a little twinge of disgust that won’t go away. He hates being in love with her. Not because of her , but because of their friendship—it’s fine the way it is, so why should he want more?

As she watches the mixer like a hawk, he watches her focus with a careful grin. He’s happy to be with her, but negativity and anxiety hammer away at his fragile mask every second. Questions collect behind his teeth and tongue; neither move out of the way to form them.

He doesn’t make a peep… until the mixer stops, at which point the dam holding his thoughts back breaks.

“I need you to join me in this.”

Chapter Text

“Join you?” Blaze echoes. “Here? Not a chance,” she laughs. “You know I’d burn the place down—”

“Not here,” he corrects, backtracking as much as he’s sweating. His forehead begins to itch with the building heat. “I mean, well… the thing on the news. I think I need a partner.”

“A… partner?”

Silver’s face hits a record temperature. He hadn’t thought that one through! “I mean– that is, what I meant was– or maybe, uh… y’know what, scratch all of that,” he stutters, then sighs dramatically. “I want to team up with you and save lives. What do you say?”

“Can I… think about it…?” she answers hesitantly. “It sounds great in theory, but… you almost died. I can’t protect you since I’ve got even less experience than you. And the fires—I wouldn’t be able to help.”

“You create fire, sure, but… you can’t control it?” he quizzes. “I’d be shocked, honestly.” Just then, an oven dings as its contents finish up baking. “Do me a favor and get that, will you?” the chef requests.

Blaze nods. “Sure.” She trots over and casually scoops the glass dish out with her bare hands.

“You have an affinity for heat,” Silver reminds her as if she needs reminding.

“That I do,” she confirms, not yet understanding his point.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to control it?”

Blaze pauses. “I’ve tried. It’s only worked with fires I’ve created. I can’t move ones that aren’t mine.”

“Let’s put that to the test right now, then,” Silver suggests. “I’ll light a candle, and you—”

“Stop,” Blaze grumbles. “I’m sorry, but… not right now, okay? I actually have to get to work, and—”

“This won’t take long, Blaze,” the boy begs, hurrying over to her and taking her warm hands. “Please.”

She hesitates before sighing. “Fine. But make it snappy. I don’t want to get fired.”

“Bunnie’s too nice for that!” Silver claims while opening and digging through a drawer. He procures a lighter and rushes to light a candle across the room.

“She’s not my boss,” Blaze growls, crossing her arms. “Miles is. And I’ve never even talked to him—not really.”

Silver lights the candle and brings it to the girl. “Okay, now try to put it out with your pyrokinesis.”

She shuts her eyes in concentration, but nothing happens; the flame stays perfectly still.

“Now light it,” Silver instructs.

Blaze opens her eyes and blinks at it. “But it didn’t go out.”

“I know.”

She raises her eyebrows and frowns in doubt but still follows his instructions. As she lights it, though, it sinks in. “Oh,” she gasps. “I see what you mean now!”

“You do?” he asks hopefully.

She stares at the flame for a mere second before it extinguishes. “I just have to make the flames my own!” She smiles at him, and for a moment, he sees errant candlelight reflecting in her eyes. The light flickers and disappears, but Silver’s heart carries it forward.

“So… would you join me?” He extends his hand as if asking her to dance.

Her smile slowly fades. “We… could die.”

“A lot of people could die. The question is if we’ll let that happen.”

Her chest inflates with oxygen-infused hope. She slowly reaches up to grab his hand. “We won’t,” she determines. “Because we can’t. Because they need us.”

“Because we’re super awesome,” Silver adds with a goofy grin.

Blaze snorts. “Yeah, that too.” She releases his hand—and just in time, too, as her palms had begun to heat up in her fiery determination. “I’m going to have to find some really good excuses to tell Bunnie and Miles,” she realizes with a hint of fear. “I love Bunnie—she’s fantastic, as you know—but I don’t want to know what it’s like on her bad side.”

“Wait, why would you need excuses?” Silver questions cluelessly.

Blaze gestures to the city beyond the door. “We don’t get to choose when calamity strikes. It could be during the prime hours for business. We need to have excuses prepared.”

“Shadow already knows about my powers and all that, so I don’t have to worry about that so much,” Silver proclaims with a hint of pride. “I guess the only people I’d have to explain anything to would my coworkers, and they’re already suspicious of the fact that I’m a solo chef. Guess they’ll figure it out eventually if I’m gonna be on the news.” He stares at the floor and picks at his arm nervously, then sighs and shrugs. “It was nice keeping this secret while it lasted.”

Blaze nudges him. “Just wear a mask, silly. Nobody suspects the hidden ones.”

“‘The hidden ones’?” he echoes. “That could totally be our team name!”

Blaze erupts with a sound somewhere between a laugh, a snort, and a groan. “I don’t know about that,” she chuckles.

Silver elbows her playfully. “C’mon, it sounds cool!”

“But we won’t be hidden if we’re out there saving the city,” she points out. “Besides, I meant our ‘alter egos,’ not our superhero personas. Silver and Blaze are hidden, not… whoever we’re becoming in times of trouble.”

“You sound like you’re all in now!” Silver notes excitedly.

Blaze closes her eyes, folds her hands behind her back, and hums as she makes her way toward the door. “We’ll see. For now, though, keep dreaming. It’s infectious; I might even dare to hope one day.”

Silver’s face twists into a goofy grin and he stares at her lovingly. It takes him a second to snap out of his adoring trance. “R-right, you got it! Aye-aye!” He salutes awkwardly, his face turning red.

Blaze giggles and smiles affectionately at him. “Seriously… never change.” With that, she opens the door and waves as she departs.

Silver sighs the biggest sigh he’s ever sighed. She might be the death of me. I might just die right here. He presses his hand to his chest and feels his pulse rushing like a stampede. He stumbles back to sink down against the counters with a weak whimper that might normally suggest low blood sugar. The content smile on his face tells a different story.

I hate that I love being in love with you. You’ve set my heart on fire, and I can’t help but burn.