Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Shadow woke up, the first thing he noticed were the tears staining his cheeks.

The sunlight that filtered in through his window, denoting it to be late morning, was harsh on his bleary eyes. Dust motes swirled overhead, their dancing and celebration ignored by Shadow’s blank gaze as he gradually oriented himself. Blinked himself back into awareness as he returned to the real world.

It was a short-lived effort, as despite himself, Shadow attempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, lifting a forearm and draping it over his lids to block out the pesky daylight. He wanted to slip back into his rapidly fading dream, return to the world where he could at least pretend. However, the threads that had chained him had fully retreated, returning to the shadows where they lingered just outside of his grasp, so with a sigh, he lowered his arm and resumed staring listlessly at the ceiling once more.

The spot on his arm that had been splayed over his eyes was damp from his undried tears.

This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. He was used to these dreams. Of the past. Of what had happened, of what had been in his possession before it had been torn away from him. Rending a gaping hole in his chest, one that bled and oozed even though years had passed and he should have been long dead from the life that slowly seeped out of him.

Granted, he had done little to try to bandage his wound. Allowing it to fester, Shadow had learned to merely coexist with his loss, and because of that, despite the hollowness he felt within himself, he turned to check his communication device for the time. Going through the motions, even though his mind was still frantically searching for a way back into the world of his fantasies.

What he found instead were several unread message notifications.

It was enough to make him sit up with a groan, lifting his hand up to rub away some of the pesky tears that accumulated at the corners of his eyes. Bringing his touch away, he apprehended their moistness on his fingertips, rubbing them against the pad of his thumb in idle disinterest, before returning his attention to his communicator.

All of the messages were from Rouge.

Shadow grimaced, turning to check the calendar beside his bed. Time had become meaningless to him, the passage firm and unrelenting though ultimately indecipherable. To navigate this, before going to bed each night, he always made a point to draw a strict, red slash through the date to signify its end. There was no returning to the past, and though his heart yearned for it to be so, the inexorable march of time was ruthless.

It was Thursday.

An inoffensive day of the week, nothing particularly spectacular about it. Which was why Rouge had likely chosen it for their weekly meetings; close enough to the end of the work week to be held without guilt, but also not interfering with the weekend. Calculated and intentional, just like everything about her was.

Checking the time, Shadow realized that if he didn’t head out soon, he would be late.

There were few things Shadow cared about any longer. Being punctual was one of them, and so, with a sigh of exhaustion, he pulled on his shoes and gloves. On the bedside table, his communication device buzzed incessantly, and after he had finally dressed himself, Shadow snatched it up and sent Rouge a hasty response, informing her that he was on his way and to stop bothering him. He had never missed one of their weekly hangouts, and yet, the worry in her texts was still palpable. Almost as though she were afraid that one of these days, Shadow wasn’t going to show up at all.

To be fair, it wasn’t an entirely unfounded concern.

Silencing his device and strapping it to his wrist, right under the folds of the leather cuffs on his gloves, Shadow exited his room and began to make his way down the stairs. He didn’t bother to check his appearance before heading out the front door— he had done away with all the mirrors in his slender townhouse ages ago. Other than the singular one remaining in his bathroom, Shadow had removed all opportunities to perceive himself. He hated the hedgehog that stared back at him, the one who was soulless and depressed and devoid of a purpose. So he chose not to look at him at all.

His journey was quickened by the sharp pushes from his skates, and although he wasn’t late, Rouge had still beat him, sitting at the table in the corner of the coffee shop they had chosen as their regular meetup spot. It was a small, round table nestled in between a giant, ornate bookcase that spanned the entirety of the wall, containing old leather books decorated with gold filigree that Shadow swore no one actually had ever bothered to read, and a tall, leafy plant. It offered the guise of protection under its ferned fronds that arced overhead, protection that was superficial but made Shadow feel some sense of ease nonetheless.

Rouge had already ordered her drink, as well as Shadow’s. Both mugs were sitting on top of the worn wooden table, filled to the brim. They both got the same thing every week— Shadow a plain, black coffee with no additives, and Rouge a lavender latte with a douse of milk shaped like a heart— and whoever arrived first would order both drinks. Usually that onus fell upon Shadow, given that Rouge was typically late more often than not (and Shadow found nothing fashionable about it, no matter how much she begged to differ), but there were always exceptions to this rule.

Such as today.

“Sleep in?” Rouge asked in greeting as he slid stiffly into the chair, reaching to grab her drink and take a tentative sip. She was careful not to muck up the heart, Shadow noticed, though her efforts were pointless. It would disappear soon enough, anyways, along with the decorative lavender sprig peeking out the edge of the cup.

“One could say that.” He wouldn’t necessarily describe as what he did as sleeping, seeing how tired and fatigued he felt whenever he woke up. It was a constant sensation that plagued him, and instead of fighting it, Shadow had merely accepted it as a fact. Learned to coexist with the exhaustion.

They fell into silence, each of them taking reserved samples from their drinks. Shadow’s coffee was still piping hot; Rouge must have arrived not too long before him.

The ambience of the coffee shop was somewhat calming, the surrounding tables peppered with enough people for it to not feel completely desolate and empty, but not packed to the point of being claustrophobic. Shadow was content to sit there and listen, to exist invisibly in the space, though he knew his peace wouldn’t last very long. Rouge was penchant for initiating small talk, finding anything and everything to discuss to permeate the gap between them. In a way, it wore down on Shadow, but he did his best to appear somewhat engaged. Most of what Rouge had to say was mildly interesting, after all, so he supposed that at the very least, he could tolerate her ramblings.

Despite his misgivings, when Rouge finally broke the silence, Shadow wished that she had opted to take the route of small talk instead.

“You’ve been dreaming about him again, haven’t you.”

Shadow’s grasp tightened around his cup, threatening to shatter it. “What makes you say that.”

He knew the answer to his own question. It was the way his eyes were distant and bloodshot, the way that even though he was physically present, his mind and spirit seemed elsewhere. Because that was the truth. He might have been there, sitting with Rouge in the café, and yet, he couldn’t stop reliving his dream. Trying to cling on to the remnants of it, commit every fading detail to memory, as the vividness faded and was replaced by the dull colors of the world around him.

Rouge didn’t point out just how horrid he looked and how absent his demeanor was though, didn’t call attention to how his suffering was worn like a second skin. “Call it a hunch,” she said loosely, and for that, Shadow gifted her with a glare. One that was lacking his usual bite, like everything was nowadays, but it conveyed his ire easily enough.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You never want to talk about it.”

She wasn’t wrong. Shadow hated her for it.

He instead let out a suffering noise of disquietude. “What is there to even talk about?”

Across from him, Rouge bit at her lower lip, a pearly fang poking out as she did so. It was written so clearly on her face that she apparently had a lot to say, harbored many thoughts on the matter, however, he watched her swallow these opinions. “Well, maybe, you could start by telling me what has been happening in your recent dreams?”

This time, when Shadow’s grip tightened around the mug, he did so with enough force to induce a thin, hairline fracture.

If anyone else would have asked him such an audacious question, he would have strangled them on the spot. Lashed out with a potent burst of Chaos Energy, conjured up a spear and sent it straight through their heart. His dreams were personal, the only time that he felt alive and like things were right. How they used to be.

However, since it was Rouge asking, Shadow did not punish her for her transgressions. “It’s the same as they always are.” The same as the dreams he had been having for the past few years, dreams that he used to fight by avoiding sleep like plague from how they had haunted the dark corners of his psyche, before he had realized the value they held and began to seek them out instead. Cling on to them like a lifeline, a fraying rope that was the last thing holding the vestiges of his sanity together.

His answer didn’t seem to bring Rouge much solace, for her delicate features contorted. She knew what the dreams were, had always been since in the beginning, Shadow had shared every detail. Desperate to get some of it off his chest, to not be the only one to bear the weight of the burden and the loss.

“Shadow…” she began slowly, her mouth screwing into a pensive line as she hesitated for a moment, biding her time before finally continuing. “He’s—”

Shadow didn’t give her the chance to finish. “I know, Rouge. I know. You don’t need to remind me.” 

Just because he knew, didn’t make it any easier to stomach. Much less hear someone else say it out loud.

Rouge gave him a pitiful look, one that he despised even though he knew she meant well, before pausing to take a tepid sip of her tea. There was a faint smudge against the porcelain cup from her lipstick, a slightly darker color than the one she normally wore. Shadow wondered why she had changed it, but didn’t care enough to ask.

“Perhaps…” she said after a long moment, one that was silent and tense and Shadow hadn’t bothered to attempt breaking, “…maybe it’s time you start working for G.U.N. again. What do you think?”

Well, that was a new one. Rouge was frequently suggesting absurd and ridiculous things for Shadow to try. Go to therapy (no), attend yoga classes (absolutely not), join a cult (Shadow almost laughed in her face for this suggestion), learn how to play an instrument (actually… he would never confess that he had ended up heeding her advice on that last one, and had grown to be pretty adept at the hobby. He refused to give her the satisfaction, no, not with how swollen his pride was), and a whole slew of other outlandish ideas for him to distract himself.

Other than learning how to play music, Shadow had declined every single one of them.

Because he didn’t need meaningless fluff to fill the void of his heart, what had been stolen from him.

And he certainly, under no circumstances, would ever choose to distract himself by returning to G.U.N. He had turned his back on them ages ago, resigning after the incident that had shaken him to his very soul. Because it had been their fault, putting him on assignment, preventing him from joining in the transformation with the Chaos Emeralds, relegating him to be a useless bystander while he could do little more than watch as Sonic had—

“Shadow? What do you think about that? The organization has been short-staffed recently, and you have always been the best agent they’ve ever employed. Commander Tower asks about you frequently.” There was a heavy, lengthy pause. “And he wants me to send you his condolences. Even after all this time.”

Rouge’s voice was quieter, gentler as she delivered the second part of her statement. That didn’t make it smart any less, the wince on Shadow’s face betraying just how much those words stung.

“I have no interest in working for them,” he replied cooly after he had graced himself with a moment to regain his composure. The last thing he needed was for Rouge to hear the quiver in his voice, for his stoic persona that he so painstakingly crafted to waver. “They seem to be doing just fine without me.”

Rouge looked like she wanted to protest, but surprisingly held her tongue. “I understand Shadow,” she said, and though she did seem like she genuinely understood, she still didn’t seem all that pleased about it.

But Shadow didn’t care. Let her be disappointed. He didn’t owe G.U.N. anything. Not after all he had sacrificed in their name.

As he sat there and brooded, Rouge was quick to change the subject. She began prattling on about something that Shadow found himself rapidly losing track of, as he alternated between staring listlessly at the unruly fern perched just over her shoulder and into the blackened depths of his coffee. Not for the first time, he wondered why he still bothered coming to these when he had such a difficult time remaining focused. And as Rouge waved her hands animatedly about, her expressions dramatic and passionate as she told an elaborate story Shadow struggled to follow, he couldn’t help but wonder why she put forth so much effort when Shadow had demonstrated time and time again that he was a lost cause.

A part of him knew why she insisted on having these luncheons, though, despite his musings. She was worried for him, more than she had any right to be, but her concerns were not completely unsupported. Shadow had turned into a mere husk, a shell of his former self. He was a hermit, a recluse, and it was only because of these weekly meetings with Rouge did he talk to anybody else.

Leaving the house was a chore. He tried to avoid doing it at all costs.

In wake of... the incident... as he so lovingly referred to it as, all of his friendships had faded into dust, lost to the sands of time and neglect. Rouge was the only one he kept in regular contact with, but only because most of the effort was initiated from her end. She was the one who set up their meetings, who texted him reminders, who occasionally sent him funny photos that at most induced a puff of amusement through his nose, but more often than not caused him to simply roll his eyes. She tried hard, harder than Shadow probably deserved, and the part of him that wasn’t completely lifeless and gray did appreciate it, to some extent.

He knew he would be far worse off without her.

But he also couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate much more than the absolute bare minimum.

As he took yet another sip from his mug, the taste of his coffee sharp and bitter on his tongue, he found himself snapped back into the present as he caught the tail end of Rouge’s story and realized that she was directly addressing him.

“—What do you think about that, Shadow?”

Shadow blinked. While he had been nodding absently along, now that the spotlight was being shined directly into his face, he realized that he hadn’t caught a single word of what she had been saying. “What do I think about what?”

“Knuckles making our relationship official! Weren’t you listening to anything I was just telling you? About the incredibly romantic way that he asked me to be his girlfriend?”

No, and also, I really don’t know if I want to know, because the idea of anyone being in a relationship with that red imbecile is enough to make me lose my appetite. “That’s, uh, great, Rouge.” Shadow’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. There was a sudden lump there, one that made it difficult for him to speak, much less drink his coffee, so he settled for cradling his mug in his hands. “I’m really happy for you.”

Happiness was not an emotion he had felt in years, but he supposed that lying to his best friend couldn’t hurt in this specific instance.

Rouge began to reach her hands out across the table, clearly with the intent to brace them against Shadow’s in excitement, however, at the last moment, she withdrew, tucking them under the lip of the table where he could no longer see them. She was a really physical person, Shadow had noticed, and yet, she hadn’t touched him in a long time. It had been years, back when she had first realized just how touch-averse Shadow was and had immediately altered the way she existed around him just for his own comfort. Shadow had always appreciated it, the quiet way in which she respected him and his space.

He felt a little bad; he was not at all returning that respect at the moment, seeing that she had launched into yet another lengthy tirade about what Shadow could only assume was Knuckles, and here he was, not listening to a lick of it.

He tried to tune back in, but it was hard. Primarily because he had been dead serious when he had mentally noted that imagining Knuckles doing sappy things such as buying her flowers and asking Rouge to be his girlfriend over a candlelit dinner sickened him to his core. But also, because it opened that old, rotting wound that had never truly healed, reminding him with rude clarity that the relationship that Rouge and Knuckles shared was nothing Shadow could ever hope to experience.

Not with the only one he had ever truly loved gone.

Shaking his head to free the depressing thought from his languid mind, Shadow attempted to distract himself by jumping back into the conversation, an easy thing to do seeing that Rouge was currently complaining about something inane and unimportant.

Still, he played the part, just like any good friend would. “That’s horrible, he only got you milk chocolate? Doesn’t he know that you prefer dark?”

Rouge threw a hand in the air. “That’s what I was saying! I didn’t want to seem ungrateful though, and I do still like milk chocolate, even if it’s not quite the same….” She sighed theatrically, all before playing it off with an easy laugh and an accompanying coy smirk. “I think he got it so that he could eat it himself. When I woke up this morning, half the box was gone! And unless someone snuck into my house in the middle of the night, it was most definitely him!”

“Have you confronted him about it yet?”

“No, but if I did, he would probably say that eating my chocolates was necessary to build up his muscles or something. That’s usually the argument he tries to make.”

Shadow arched a brow. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You try telling him that, then,” Rouge countered, that adoring smile still lighting up her face in such a way that indicated that Knuckles could get away with far more egregious offenses and she still wouldn’t be all that bothered. “Every time I try to bring up the fact that sweets do not result in being stronger, he tells me that I don’t have muscles like his, so I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Shadow couldn’t help but scoff at this; sounded like Knuckles all right, the exact type of jargon only a meathead of his caliber was capable of producing. He had half a mind to quiz Rouge on just what exactly she saw in him, all before telling her that there was still time to end things before they got more serious. They were just boyfriend and girlfriend after all, it would be an easy thing to break off. Their newfound label was just a stupid, meaningless title, it would be simple to get rid of.

But then again, he figured he wasn’t exactly the best person equipped to dole out relationship advice, given his own questionable taste in romantic partners and the fact that even after all this time, he still hadn't managed to move on.

For the remainder of their time together, Shadow attempted to be more present in his conversation with Rouge, forcing all lingering thoughts of his dreams and fruitless pining to the back of his mind. It was a difficult, painstaking endeavor, but he somehow managed, remaining engaged throughout the rest of the hour they spent together. Long after their mugs had been drained of their drinks, leaving nothing more than a shallow pool of liquid accumulated at the bottom: abandoned, unretrievable, and cold.

However, the spell of normalcy was broken when a notification from Rouge’s communication device, bedazzled with purple gems in a way that just had to be inconvenient, cut her off mid-sentence. She gave it an irritated look as she glanced at the screen, and the expression of annoyance only deepened with her lips pursing in disdain.

“Headquarters is calling me in,” she said with a sigh as she gathered her things, standing up to take her leave. “But this was fun. Same time next week?”

She always asked with that edge of uncertain hope in her voice, her parting words always seeking to confirm that this wouldn’t be the last time that they met. Shadow dignified her with a nod.

“Wonderful,” she purred as she collected their cups, placing them on the counter of the bar as they began to make their way out the door. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself in the meantime, okay?”

This time, Shadow didn’t nod as she flew off. He wasn’t sure he was capable of making such a promise.

He took the long way back to his townhouse, deciding that he wanted some extra time outside before he locked himself away for the remainder of the day. It was early in the autumn season, the leaves on the trees just barely turning from their green colors. They were mere points, dots of yellows, oranges, and browns mottling the coverage lining the streets, but they were present nonetheless. Autumn was always such a perplexing season in Shadow’s opinion, covering the world in a dazzling burst of vividness before fading away into bleak grayness. One last explosion of beauty before it disappeared altogether.

There was an easy breeze that ruffled at his quills, one that was warm and innocuous. It wasn’t late enough in the year for it to be biting and frigid just yet, and Shadow employed a rare effort to enjoy it. Despite himself, talking with Rouge always did lift his spirits, at least for a short while.

But of course, the weight of his burdens and laments wore down on him with each step he took, and by the time he returned home, Shadow was right back where he started.

Chapter Text

Time passed by in a blur after his meeting with Rouge.

Well, it almost passed by in a blur. It was only through marking off the end of each day on his calendar before he went to bed did Shadow keep track of the time, did he ground himself in between the smeared days and the late, sleepless nights.

Tonight was one of those nights. The cup of cheap coffee he had brewed himself certainly wasn’t helping, but then again, that had been the point. Not in the mood to return to his fabricated, debilitating dreamworld at the moment, not in the mood to wake up depressed and with tears in his eyes as he was forced to endure having what he desired most torn away from his feeble hands, Shadow had been sipping at the coffee while he worked at his desk. Trying to keep the ghosts at bay, though the caffeine this late at night with how tired he was only had the effect of setting him on edge. He felt jittery and anxious, and he knew he would be in for a hell of a time when he finally did decide to succumb to the exhaustion creeping into the corners of his subconscious.

But that wouldn’t be for a while yet. He was too entrenched in his work, too focused to be tempted by his bed tucked away in the corner of his plain, minimalist room.

He was transcribing sheet music at the moment. It was how he typically ended his nights; not working for G.U.N. any longer had left him with a lot of free time, and though much of it was spent wallowing and brooding, there was something productive, a fledgling flame that had arisen from the ashes of his sorrow.

Shadow had learned how to play piano.

It had been difficult at first. Learning any new instrument was. But he had been determined, channeling his anguish onto his fingers and slowly unlocking the secrets of the keys. He was relentless in his practicing, and after only a short year and half of lessons, he had graduated to learn from his own devices. Clumsy fingers transitioning to deft and nimble ones at a rate that had even impressed the elderly woman who had been his teacher.

He didn’t even remember her name. But he did remember where she lived, where he would go for his lessons, and it was always his intent to return to her and demonstrate how far he had come since her tutelage. Perhaps one day, when he had something worthy to show her.

Perhaps one day when his suffering wasn’t what fueled his playing.

Playing wasn’t enough, though. And it was through the hunger for more that Shadow had begun to compose his own pieces, simple and rudimentary at first, but all laced with a raw, wailing emotion that even his elementary talents of creating his own works could convey well enough.

It only made sense that Shadow had harbored a secret ear for music, only being uncovered after all these years. How long had he spent on the ARK, listening to Maria play her guitar? Allowing her delicate plucking to carve out ravines and canyons unto his skin, melodies that transcended space and time and memories?

Yes, music was in his nature. And though it was difficult for him to express himself through his words (his teatime with Rouge was a clear indicator of that, after all), he found that the language of song was far easier to converse with.

The current piece he was working on, dedicated to none other than the one he had lost, had undergone many iterations. He was close to finishing, he could just feel it, but there was something off about it. A piece of the puzzle he was missing, a component that he felt didn’t quite do his yearning justice.

Perhaps it was in the wrong key? C-minor seemed to suit his pining heart well enough, seeing that it didn’t get much more sullen than the three flats the signature had to offer… so maybe he was missing a passage? Or perhaps it was bogged down with too much of his ailing heart, and he needed to tone it down just a smidge?

Oh well. Giving it another go would have to wait until the following day. It was late, the piano was downstairs, and he had already toiled over the keys for hours, playing until his fingers practically bled. Until then, however, he could transfer his annotations and corrections to a new sheet. Give himself something fresh to look at the following day, something that wasn’t covered in scribbles and nonsensical notes that were only decipherable to the ache that festered in his soul.

Shadow sighed as he squinted his eyes in focus, the flickering of the candle at his elbow the sole source of illumination in the room. It made the pages dim and somewhat difficult to interpret. Transcribing music was a painstaking process, but he did find some solace and comfort in the action. It was mindless enough where he didn’t have to actively think (he had already done all of the heavy lifting hunched over the instrument downstairs), but took enough concentration that it prevented his thoughts from wandering. From delving into the realms of his mind that were less than savory, a pit of despair lingering at the edge of his subconscious that he felt a constant pull to wander towards.

Shaking his head, Shadow refocused on the five lines of the staff beneath his fingertips and scribbled out the clefts and the key signature. His strokes were practiced and comfortable. With how many iterations this piece had gone through, how much time had spent slaving over perfecting every note, rhythm, and sound, drawing the loops and whorls of the treble clef was as easy as breathing.

Moving on, Shadow continued to transcribe the notes. Over time, his handwriting had evolved into something that was distinctly his, resembling something not unlike calligraphy. Shadow didn’t really care that it would be illegible to most others. The only person who would ever play this would be him.

The only person who would ever hear it would be him as well, and that was a fact that made him more than just a little depressed, so he tried not to dwell on it for too long.

Shadow’s work continued late into the night, only ever taking breaks to sip at his coffee. It kept him going, staved away the fatigue that clawed its way in, and with admirable devotion, Shadow pressed forward, not stopping for anything.

However, when he was almost halfway done with his transcription, he finally did find himself pausing, his ear flicking as his focus was interrupted.

There was a slight disturbance in the atmosphere, a shimmer of energy that descended over the room right as Shadow was about to place the tip of his nib to the sheet. Beside him, the candle that had been valiantly flickering as the only source of light in the room went out, the flame dying and being replaced by a wispy trail of smoke.

However, the room didn’t descend into darkness like Shadow had been expecting. Instead, there was a new source of light, a soft glow from behind him. Steadier than the candle and casting a new shadow of his figure against the wall directly in front of him. And most uncannily of all, the silence that had once enveloped him in a comforting embrace was suddenly replaced by a deep hum buzzing at a frequency so low, Shadow was certain only his sensitive ears were able to pick up on its keen. The sound was familiar, bursting with dormant power, but where he had heard that particular pitch before, he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Shadow’s pen hovered over the paper as the light shifted, making the dark outline of his form flutter, and he froze. There was someone, or rather, something else in the room with him. He could feel it in the air, sense its presence.

Slowly placing his pen down, for the way it trembled in his grasp betrayed the prick of fear he felt travel across his hide, Shadow shifted his eyes to the side, his body remaining unmoving. He wasn’t scared of anything as he was quite literally one of the most powerful beings on the planet, and yet… he couldn’t prevent the odd sense of fright that paralyzed his body. He was scared to see who it was, for whatever goddamn reason, and because of this, he had to take a brief moment to prepare himself.

And so, with a deep breath and an internal dip into his Chaos Reserves, prepared to clench his fist around his hidden power and induce its might if necessary, Shadow slowly swiveled his chair around, turning to face the intruder, whoever they were, that stood behind him.

Truth be told, he hadn’t known what he was expecting.

 If anything, he had been expecting nothing at all. A mere trick of his mind this late at night, an indication that it was probably time to go to bed.

However, there was a person standing there, a lazy and pleased grin showcasing sharp rows of lethal, pointed fangs.

The grip on his Chaos Energy faltered, and his power disappeared from his grasp as Shadow clapped a hand around his mouth and let out a sharp gasp. The action was wild and uncontrolled, and as a result, his elbow knocked into his mug of half-depleted coffee, sending the drink flying through the air. It shattered upon impact, breaking into pieces that weren’t worth salvaging and spilling the dark liquid like blood on the ground.

But Shadow didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to care, because the person standing before him to elicit such a sharp reaction…

…was none other than Sonic the Hedgehog.

Or at least, whatever it was, it looked like Sonic, exactly how he had appeared the last time Shadow had seen him all those years go. He was in his Super Form, all traces of soft blues and greens absent and replaced with the coloration of the Chaos Emerald’s power. His fur was a brilliant shade of gold, almost blinding in how radiant it was. Chaos Energy danced across the strands, concocting a mesmerizing dance of rippling hues of whites, yellows, golds, and if Shadow narrowed his eyes, the iridescent sheen of the rainbow teasing his perception. And it was from his fur that an otherworldly glow was cast over his sparse room, replacing the candle.

The resemblance was unnerving. From the cheeky smirk curling at the corners of his lips, to the crinkling of his eyes as he scrutinized Shadow like he was beholding something hilarious, to the casual placement of his hand on his hips in that cocky posture he so loved to do, everything about him was the spitting image of the person Shadow thought he would never see again.

Though curiously, he wasn’t floating. Instead, his feet were planted on the ground, and it was because of this that one of the fragments of Shadow’s deceased mug skittered across the floor and bumped into the sole of his shoe.

It was enough to make the thing that looked like Sonic tear his piercing gaze from Shadow as he glanced down and tutted, the sound echoing with a peculiar, metallic edge.  It bounced off the walls in a dissonant harmony, sounding not unlike a siren’s call and having the simultaneous effect of enchanting Shadow as well as stabbing a stake of fear straight through his pounding heart. “Well that was awfully clumsy of you, Shadow,” Sonic admonished in that angelic voice, bending over and plucking the shard of ceramic that rested against his shoe with agile fingers before straightening to hold it up and study it. “Look at this mess you made.”

Shadow opened his mouth to speak, however, no words came out. He was completely, utterly dumbfounded.

The chunk of Shadow’s shattered cup disappeared into Sonic’s fist, his fingers curling around it as he stared at it with a bored expression and squeezed. After a moment, he allowed his fist to relax and a waterfall of golden glitter drifted to the ground from between his loosened fingers, not unlike the sand of an overturned hourglass, the piece of porcelain gone.

Shadow could do little more than stare with mute horror.

And it was in his silence that Sonic spoke once more, his attention shifting from the shimmering dust now frosting the floor and focusing back onto Shadow.

“Well?” he asked. “Have you really nothing to say to me? After all this time?”

His direct question was enough to make something finally tear free from Shadow’s throat, but nothing that he said was coherent. “I… you… this can’t—”

“Breathe, Shadow,” the spirit chided. “It’s just me.”

But it wasn’t, couldn’t be him. Shadow refused to believe it. And so, despite himself, he took a breath like had been ordered to do, gathered his wits about him, and began anew. “No, it’s… it’s not you. You can’t be here,” he said, almost desperate in his insistence. “You’re dead.”

There was a ripple in the room, something that felt like a shift on both a cosmic and molecular scale. The sensation passed as quickly as it came though, leaving Shadow no time to linger on it as Sonic quirked his head to the side. “How can you say that, when I’m right here?”

 Shadow shook his head adamantly. “No, no, this is just a dream. Just like all the others. Just like it has always been.”

To his horror, Sonic took a step forward. He filled the space that existed between them, his foot crunching down onto the shattered remains of Shadow’s mug as he walked toward him. Beneath the sole of his foot, the largest fragment splintered, going from one piece to many. Shadow had half a mind to shoot a hand out to stop him, to tell him to not step on the glass, however, he held his tongue. The words wouldn’t form, couldn’t form, not with how he found himself trapped in Sonic’s gaze. Vermillion and haunting, exactly as they were in all of his dreams.

Except… this time it was different, somehow. Sonic’s eyes were normally distant, almost as though they saw through Shadow. Like he wasn’t there. But now….

As Sonic drew closer, Shadow couldn’t shake that peculiar feeling, the one where he felt perceived. But now, he was being stared at, studied, dissected in a way that felt infinitely more lifelike than any of his dreams had ever been before.

“Do you really think that this is a dream, Shadow?”

Something about the way Sonic said his name made an involuntary shiver course through Shadow’s spine. It tore through each vertebra, and it took everything within his power to prevent his body from outwardly trembling.

“I know it is a dream.”

Sonic hummed at this, his features pulling in a way that mimicked dismay, but the expression didn’t quite meet his eyes. Light and teasing, like Shadow was his prey. “Is that so?” he asked in a tone far too casual for the alarm the situation called for. “That’s a shame. I’ll have to find a way to change your mind.”

Shadow’s breath hitched as his pulse throbbed beneath his skin, hammering until the frantic beat was all he could hear. No, no, this was all wrong. Sonic was going off script, deviating from the usual sequence of events that Shadow was forced to relive every single night in an endless cinematic loop. He wasn’t supposed to converse with Sonic like this, hell, they weren’t even supposed to be here, in his room, where everything grounded him in reality.

Reality that abruptly made itself known as Shadow shrunk back and subsequently stumbled, his hip colliding with the sharp edge of his desk. He let out a sharp hiss of pain, instinctively tearing his gaze away from where Sonic approached to apprehend the spot that had been stabbed. That had hurt, more than anything in his dreams ever had before.

Was there a chance…? That this was…?

Shadow let out a pathetic gasp, a sharp intake of breath as he turned back to face Sonic and found that he was standing right in front of him, the space that had once existed between them suddenly forgone.

They held each other’s gaze for a long, harrowing moment, Shadow’s fearful and Sonic’s curious. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, though could have only been a few seconds for all that Shadow knew, Sonic finally looked away, his attention flickering down to where Shadow had bumped his hip. Where he was steadying himself against the edge of the desk with arched fingers, gripping the wood like his life depended on it.

“Did you hurt yourself, Shadow?”

Concern colored Sonic’s face as he bent over and leaned in, studying the spot that still smarted and radiated pain from the collision. Words eluded Shadow, and he could do little more than stare with his mouth slightly ajar as Sonic’s eyes scraped over his upper thigh. This close, he could practically smell the Chaos Energy, taste it on his tongue as it pulsed in the air around them. Or rather, around Sonic. Shadow was merely a moon in his celestial orbit.

Sonic glanced up at Shadow, remaining bent at the waist and having to look through wispy, delicate lashes to see him. “Do you want me to take a closer look?”

“No,” Shadow barked, unsure why this dream was so intent on haunting him so. The last thing he needed was for Sonic to draw any closer, for the inner sanctum of his subconscious to taunt him further. Show him what he couldn’t have, torment him with a diabolical vision.  “Stay away from me.”

A flash of hurt crossed Sonic’s face as he drew back, and Shadow didn’t know if he felt more relief or heartbreak at the distance that was restored between them. “Is that what you want, Shadow?”

He hated how gentle Sonic’s voice was, how his traitorous heart skipped a beat, how after all this time, his mind was able to create a perfect replica of his former rival. How he knew the best way to torture himself, how all it took was hearing Sonic say his name in that soft, reverent tone to reduce him into a puddle of belligerence. “I want you to stop saying my name.”

Please never stop saying my name, something within him pleaded, and it took everything in Shadow’s power to push the betrayal away, swallow the words before they could be spoken.

“Why’s that?” Sonic pressed. “It’s who you are. Just like I am me.”

“You’re not him.” Shadow’s fingers clenched the edge of the desk with enough force, he could feel the sharpened points of his claws drag through the wood. “You can’t be. It’s been years.”

“I am him,” Sonic insisted. He was stubborn, just like Shadow remembered him being. “Go on, Shadow. Say my name.”

His voice was many things. Soft, encouraging, resolute, firm. It caressed Shadow’s ears, the ethereal reverb of his timbre singing a supernatural song that Shadow knew was a direct product of the Chaos Emeralds powering his form. They were otherworldly relics, artifacts from a realm far beyond the Earth, and the whispers of their power were woven into the threads of Sonic’s dulcet tone.

And yet, despite the enticement, Shadow kept his mouth clamped shut. Sonic might have been stubborn, but then again, so was he.

There was a shift, and that incandescent voice spoke once more. “Speak to me, Shadow. Tell me who I am.”

It was all too overwhelming, too much. Shadow must have grown complacent in his dreams over the years, falling into the same patterns and routines of reliving Sonic’s final moments that now that his mind had chosen to ravage him with something new, he couldn’t handle it. Squeezing his eyes shut so that he didn’t have to look at Sonic anymore, the image bringing nothing but pain and agony, Shadow pressed his lips into a defiant, excruciating line.

The silence was deafening.

It lasted for a few long, harrowing seconds, before he felt Sonic’s presence retreat. The burning glow of his transformation receded from behind his eyelids, and the scent of the Chaos Energy that was dizzying in his nostrils became slightly less potent.

Sonic, if Shadow could even call him that, let out a sigh. His voice sounded distant and close all at the same time, as though he filled the entirety of the room with his presence. There was disappointment that hung thick in the air, the sentiment punctuated by his words. “You’re clearly not ready. I’ve pushed you far enough for one night, it seems.”  

His statement was enough for Shadow’s eyes to fly open, peeling back in alarm, and instead of being in front of him, Sonic was crouched at his window sill. The curtains fluttered about him, the incoming breeze sending a chill over Shadow’s flesh that he wasn’t sure could be entirely attributed to the drop in temperature. Seeing that Shadow was finally looking at him, albeit with horror etched across his features, Sonic tilted his head to the side in mild amusement.

“Do not despair. I shall return for you soon.”

And just like that, Sonic flashed him one last smile and jumped out the window.

His heart hammering in his chest, Shadow surged forward. It was as though a spell had been broken; now that Sonic wasn’t here, he was no longer anchored to the desk, no longer petrified like a stone. Sonic’s abrupt departure tore through him, excruciating as he suddenly realized that he had shoved away one of the only people that he had ever truly cared about. How could he have shunned Sonic like that, when he was the one thing his heart had yearned for over the span of years now? Why did he push him away, why hadn’t he begged at him, screamed at him to stay? What was wrong with him?!

Shadow slammed into the window frame, his hands gripping wildly at the edges as he stared wildly out into the street. There was a pestering doubt that lingered in the back of his mind, on that questioned whether he had he imagined the entire interaction or whether it had actually been real. Because, as he frantically scanned the dead and empty street , where had Sonic gone?

The answer made something uncanny crawl across Shadow’s skin.

There, skipping away down the avenue, his hands clasped behind his back, was Sonic.

Except he wasn’t on the street, he was on the lights, dancing from streetlamp to streetlamp with unsettling ease. It was a careless, whimsical motion, one that stupefied Shadow as instead of chasing Sonic down and bringing him back, all he could do was watch in mute shock as Sonic pranced down the row of streetlamps, before the brilliant glow of his golden fur eventually disappeared into the dim, murky night.

Shadow’s chest heaved as he watched the street long after Sonic had disappeared. Waiting for him to come back, for him to reappear.

Shadow wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it could have been hours for all knew as he stood numbly at his window, the night breeze washing over his fur.

There was a point though, where the chill became to much to bear, and finally moving his creaky bones, Shadow closed the window, locked it, and drew the curtains close.

On a deeper level, he knew that such a thing would not stop the apparition of Sonic should he choose to return. However, leaving it open felt like an invitation, far too vulnerable for his tastes, so with measured steps, Shadow made his way over to his bed.

The half-transcribed sheet music remained unfinished on his desk. The shattered remains of his mug remained on the ground. Shadow ignored all of it as he crawled into bed.

This is all a dream, he thought to himself as he pulled the blankets up and over him. Now all I need to do is wake up.

The words in his head were firm. Because he wanted to, no, needed to believe them, if only for his own sanity. He had drank too much coffee and had a vivid hallucination… it was the only plausible explanation. Rouge had warned him about his extreme caffeine intake after all, citing many side effects that he had simply dismissed because he was the Ultimate Lifeform and wasn’t bogged down by the same things that mortals were.

Perhaps after all this time, it had finally caught up to him.

Even so, as Shadow rolled over onto his side, drawing the covers over his head to block out any residual sound and light that threatened to delay his slumber, he couldn’t help but feel like it hadn’t been a dream at all.

And this certainly wasn’t helped as he heard Sonic’s sanguine voice carried on the wind, even though he had closed his window, whisper “Sweet dreams, Shadow,” into his delicate ear.  

Chapter Text

When Shadow awoke the next morning, the first thing he did was sit straight up in bed, ignoring how the tears that had been filling his eyes overflowed at the sudden motion and carved pathways down his face that diverged and converged in elegant patterns.

Blinking away the wetness and not even bothering to rub at his cheeks, allowing the tears to accumulate along his jawline and drip onto his chest in a dissonant rhythm, Shadow could do little more than stare at shock towards the spot on the floor where he had dropped his mug the night prior.

All of the shards, all of the stains from his cheap coffee… they were gone. Not a single trace remained.

His eyes flickering toward the window, Shadow didn’t know if he felt unnerved or relief at the fact that it was still shut and locked from the inside.

Had it really all been a dream? Had his imagination truly been that vivid, his heart in such agony that he was capable of creating hallucinations as believable as… whatever that had been? Whoever that had been, since Shadow was still so adamant on insisting that it hadn’t been Sonic?

His face contorting into an unsettled expression, Shadow prepared to get out of bed, not wanting to wallow any longer than necessary and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not with how his heart pounded in uncertainty as he struggled to decipher his hazy memories of what had happened before he had went to bed.

Removing the cover and swinging his feet over so that they dangled over the edge of the mattress, Shadow faltered as something caught his attention. The floor of his room was uncarpeted and hardwood, save for a small, nondescript rug next to his bed. It had been placed there so that his feet wouldn’t have to touch the cold ground when he arose each morning, allowing himself some trivial comfort as he would don his socks and shoes. The rug had been inexpensive and plain, and it was in the threads of the weave that Shadow noticed something peculiar.

A gold glimmer catching the morning sunlight.

Frowning, he crouched down next to it, cognizant to not step on the compact rug and disturb the only thing that seemed out of place in the room, the only anomaly that offered any sort of hint that last night had not, in fact, been a dream.

Leaning in, Shadow dragged a finger through the carpet, separating the threads to get a closer look. Sure enough, there was a fine coat of glitter coating the rug, almost alien in its beauty. The dust sang to him, the shimmering seeming to almost pulse like a heartbeat. Like it was pure, raw energy.

However, before he could ponder the oddness of it any longer, Shadow's confusion was interrupted by his stomach rumbling. Grimacing, he lifted the hand parsing through the loops of the carpet threads and pressed it to his stomach. A pang of hunger stabbed at his gut, and though Shadow didn’t need to eat much food due to the Chaos Energy reserves that powered his body, the coffee he had consumed the previous few days did little to sustain him. He was essentially starving, and it was only when he was in the deepest throes of famine did his body seek to slice through his malaise to inform him that he needed to eat.

And so, standing up and turning his back on the strange gold sand speckling his carpet, Shadow made his way downstairs to the kitchen to quell his appetite.

Unfortunately, the fridge was empty, crusty condiments and shriveled food that was in desperate need of being thrown out the only things to adorn the shelves. The pantry yielded similar results, a half-eaten jar of peanut butter and a sad rack of spices staring dismally back at him. With a withering sigh escaping from his defeated form, Shadow had been just about to tough his way through his hunger when yet another jolt of complaint radiated from his stomach.

Shadow sighed. He needed to go grocery shopping. Much to his severe displeasure.

Grabbing some old paper bags from beneath his sink, toting handles that were worn and in danger of tearing should he overload them with too much weight, the hunger in his stomach was the only thing that drove Shadow to actually walk out the door and into the morning daylight.

Getting out of the townhouse was probably a good thing, Shadow reluctantly admitted to himself as he caught a faint scent of autumn drifting on the breeze that surrounded him. Because after the strangeness of his dream the previous night, he was clearly in dire need of going outside to clear his head. Spending his days cooped up in his thin, three-story home sandwiched along a line of identical condos was probably why he had hallucinated such a vivid apparition of Sonic in the first place.

The memory of Sonic in his Super Form grinning at him with rows of sharpened, lethal fangs flashed across Shadow’s mind, and in retaliation, he kicked his air shoes to life and took off down the street.

It was a futile attempt, but he hoped to outrun it. Outrun the liveliness of his dream, outrun the person who haunted him, outrun the feelings that he had failed to be rid of even after all of these years.

And yet, as he finally came to a stop in the parking lot of the local supermarket, forcing himself to slow to a walk even though he wanted to keep running, vying for escape from all of the burdens he carried on his weary shoulders, Shadow was forced to confront the truth.

The day Sonic died, Shadow felt like a piece of him died as well.

With a defiant set of his jaw, determined to keep the pain from manifesting on his face, Shadow marched into the store. There was a stack grocery baskets right next to the entryway, so placing his paper bags inside, crinkled from how he had gripped them while he desperately ran, Shadow began his shopping.

It had all started like any of their typical world-saving adventures had begun. How many times had they done that, how many times had Shadow and Sonic managed to save the fate of the universe? This particular escapade had hardly been unique; a Dark Leviathan, a fabled ancient manifestation of pure, raw malice had been rumored to be a threat to the world’s population by G.U.N.’s top scientists. They had been tracking an alarming sequence of seismic pulses, taking note of massive earthquakes along a fault line just off the coast that they suspected weren't the typical shifting of the Earth’s tectonic plates. There had been something big brewing, they just knew it, and it had been up to Shadow to discover just what exactly this big thing was.

So, Shadow had been tracking it for months on G.U.N.’s orders, the energy readings always giving him the runaround. Elusive and slippery, pinpointing where the Leviathan would eventually emerge had been frustrating to say the least. Especially when the cultural anthropologists G.U.N. had contracted were essentially useless with the information they had managed to dig up on the thing. The best they could find was a theoretical eruption date based on the alignment of the planets in the solar system, which was great in terms of determining a deadline but ultimately useless in identifying where it would happen.

His eye catching the labels of the aisles overhead, Shadow headed down the one advertising non-perishable foods. Nowadays, he tended to purchase groceries that took longer to expire, stocking his kitchen with things that would minimize his need to run errands. Cut down on how much he needed to contact the outside world that lay beyond the barrier he had so painstakingly crafted. A safety net, a cocoon that was as much comforting as it was restricting.

Sonic had been tracking the Dark Leviathan too. They had encountered each other many times in the weeks leading up the beast’s inevitable release, and none of their interactions had been particularly pleasant. Shadow sometimes wondered if he would have treated Sonic differently had he known the path his rival had been steadily marching down, but in the end, all he harbored was regret towards his sharp and antagonistic demeanor in their final weeks together.

No matter what he wished, though, he couldn’t change the past.

Shadow drummed his fingers along the handle of the basket in contemplation. The instant ramen he had stopped in front of was on sale for a ‘buy one get one free’ deal. Choosing the classic flavor and setting it into his cart, Shadow mulled over the other choices for a moment before choosing the spicier option as his complimentary item.

The other, crazier flavors did little more than repulse him, making his stomach churn as he lifted his nose in disdain.

In the end, despite all that they had done, the scientist’s calculations had been completely wrong. The Dark Leviathan had emerged a full two weeks ahead of schedule.

Shadow had been on assignment by G.U.N. Those were the days he had been their top agent, being called in for their most prestigious missions. They had paid him well and respected him despite their unsavory past, and in turn, Shadow had been thankful for something to do. He enjoyed feeling like he was making a difference in the world, like he was using his gifts and powers for good. It was what Maria would have wanted, and for all their faults, G.U.N. was certainly organized enough to make Shadow’s capabilities streamlined and utilized to their fullest potential.

A larger than average earthquake off the coast had been cause for alarm concerning a major tsunami. Shadow had been sent in to oversee the evacuation of the citizens of the city, and it was only well after he was entrenched in his job did he hear over his communicator that the Dark Leviathan had finally emerged. That earthquake had finally been the one to herald his escape, and though Shadow had insisted that he abandon his assignment to go fight it, Commander Towers had been firm in his orders.

Shadow was to stay with the denizens of the city until every last one of them had been relocated to the surrounding hills and mountains where they would not only be safe from the incoming tsunami, but the Dark Leviathan as well.

Stacking the two packages of instant ramen into his basket was somewhat cumbersome. They were light but took up a lot of space, and as Shadow continued to wander down the aisle, he almost wished that he had grabbed a cart instead.

Despite wanting to defy his orders, Shadow had obeyed them. And it was because of this assignment, that he was nowhere near Sonic when he morphed into his Super Form, channeling the power of the seven Chaos Emeralds he had somehow possessed the foresight to collect in the weeks leading up to the Dark Leviathan’s release to transform with their godly might. Appearing from nowhere, Sonic had been nothing more than a pinprick of gold, of hope in the skies above the city as he had flown straight over the sea to where the demonic deity stood in the choppy waters.  

Shadow remembered feeling annoyed and just a bit disappointed. There was something inherently intimate about sharing the Emeralds for a transformation; at the risk of sounding crass, you could feel your partner on a cosmic level. The energy of the Emeralds connected anyone who concurrently wielded them through the soul, weaving the fibers of each other’s essences together until they became one entity. When Shadow had transformed with Sonic, he could feel him in a way that he had never been able to feel another, melding with his being until he couldn’t tell where he started and where Sonic ended. Emotions, sensations, thoughts, everythingwas shared in a wildly intimate display, and over time, Shadow had grown to crave those moments where he could transform alongside Sonic. Euphoric, rhapsodic, thrilling… the only time he truly felt alive was when he experienced that cosmic bond with Sonic.

Recalling that he had some peanut butter in his pantry (of dubious freshness, but it was there nonetheless), Shadow paused as he caught sight of the jam and marmalade lining the shelf just at the end of the aisle. Grape jelly was a classic, but if he splurged a few dollars more, he could instead get the fancy strawberry one from a nicer brand, complete with a rustic twine tied around the glass just beneath the lid. He was sure the taste wasn’t that much different, but then again, it was so rare for him to treat himself these days, and peanut butter and jelly toast would be an exceedingly simple meal for him to make….

Though he had longed to join Sonic, G.U.N. had been strict in their orders through his communication device. "Let Sonic handle the Leviathan, you focus on the evacuation efforts. You can help him once the civilians are safe."

Shadow had been frustrated that this had been the one time that G.U.N. had decided to grow a conscience. However, with gritted teeth, he had bowed his head and carried out his duties. After all, he trusted Sonic to hold the Dark Leviathan off long enough for him to help everyone escape, and in a way, by the time the beast reached the city, it would be easier for Shadow to join in on the fight. Despite his misgivings, it had made logical sense for him to wait at the shore for Sonic to lure the creature directly to him.

In the next aisle over, Shadow slowed as he caught sight of the bags of instant coffee mix extending towards the ceiling. He distantly recalled having to scrape at the bottom of the bag the night prior when brewing his drink, fishing for scraps of the powder with desperate frustration. Desperate for some more caffeine to stave off sleep, frustrated that he was so reliant on the substance to function.

The largest bag available was heavy in his hands with a quantity probably excessive to most, but Shadow figured it would last him a good while. He chose the nameless brand with a laughably cheap price tag, and while he had been willing to splurge on the fruit preserves, he drew the line at coffee. The concoction was not consumed for the taste, but rather, the mental benefits it provided. He did not care for the quality.

As far as Shadow had been concerned, Sonic had been doing his job. He was too far away, but he could only imagine the insults his rival hurled at the Leviathan, his breath and humor wasted on a behemoth not capable of intelligent thought beyond destroy, kill, consume. Shadow had no choice but to trust him, and yet, while there was no way to know for certain, he could have sworn that he felt a certain tug in his soul when it had happened. The moment that Sonic was fine, and when it all shattered.

And so, Shadow had looked up.

His grocery basket beginning to feel more than just a little cumbersome, Shadow drifted over to the refrigerated area of the grocery store. His face remained apathetic, his permanent scowl no more relaxed or fearsome than it typically was, not betraying any of the anguish that raged on inside as he was forced to relive the most painful part of Sonic’s demise.

Sonic had been little more than a streak across the sky. A shooting star plummeting towards Earth, a golden tear shed by the heavens above.

Shadow would never forget the sound of his voice breaking as he let out an aching cry at the sight. How could he, when he was forced to relive it every night when he slept? His dreams were ruthless and relentless, making him not only watch Sonic’s death from afar, but relive his panic and anguish as if he were in that very moment, seeing it again for the first time.

(At least, he had relived it every night for years now, ever since it happened, until the previous night. But that was a mystery to be unraveled at a different time.)

Sighing, Shadow found himself in front of the dairy row, selecting a smaller carton of milk from the massive refrigerator despite knowing it to perhaps not be the best idea. This was confirmed as he turned the jug over in his hands, his lips twisting as he scanned the expiration date. It was a week from that day. Did he really think that he would have a use for it, that he could possibly drink the whole thing before it spoiled?

Shadow’s fingers tightened around it in indecision. He honestly wasn’t sure.

After Sonic had been removed from the fight, everything had devolved into chaos. Eggman, of all people, had been the one to vanquish the beast, leaving Shadow to complete his task successfully. All the civilians he had been sent to evacuate and protect had been saved; there hadn’t been a single casualty.

Sonic hadn’t been so lucky.

Shadow’s fingers dug even further into the milk carton, carving light indents onto the surface of the plastic.

The moment he had ensured the safety of those entrusted to him, Shadow had pawned their management onto Rouge. With barely a bark of gratitude to accompany his desperate orders, he had fled the scene, taking off in an explosion of sparks flying from his air shoes. He didn’t know where he was going, how far he needed to run, but he followed the direction of Sonic’s fall nonetheless. Skates flying, arms pumping, chest heaving, Shadow wasn’t sure he had ever run so fast in his entire life.

In the end, his speed hadn’t mattered.

A blackened crater was all that had remained. There was no recovering a body. It had disintegrated, evaporated, been eviscerated upon contact.

Shadow released his deathly grip on the milk carton in time with the breath he had been holding, and despite knowing it to be a foolish decision, placed the milk into the basket. Perhaps he could add some to his coffee if he ran the risk of it going bad, at the very least to taper some of the edge off the bitter taste.

The Emeralds hadn’t been recovered either. It had been years, and not a trace of them had been found. No ripples in the threads of Chaos Energy that wove through every person and fiber of existence, no whispers in the wind of their whereabouts, nothing. In the beginning, Shadow had tried looking for them, combing through the ends of the Earth in an attempt to discover where they had disappeared to.

His efforts had been for naught. For all intents and purposes, they had vanished without a trace. Most likely, they had been shattered upon impact, just like Sonic’s flesh and bones had been. Reduced to nothing but a memory, a vestige of a past content to haunt those that still lived in the present.

Shadow continued to wander through the store not unlike a ghost, picking random things off the shelves that he figured he could consume at one point or another. Bread, eggs, rice, cans of fruit, beans, and vegetables. The joy he had once found in food, something he hardly needed in the first place, had been severely diluted as a result of his grieving state. His senses had dulled, his tongue flattened, and as a consequence, food was no longer seen as source of pleasure, but rather, a necessity. He didn’t care what he ate. Sure, one could probably feel his ribs through the sleek fur of his pelt (not that he would allow anyone close enough to touch him), and he was sure that his muscles that had once been powerful and defined had withered away over the years, but Shadow couldn’t bring himself to be bothered.  He had no appetite and didn’t indulge in things he had once enjoyed, most foods making him feel nauseous just by simply looking at them.

At least, until his eye caught a particularly ripe container of strawberries on his way out of his store.

The loss of Sonic was not taken lightly by anyone.

In a way, it had felt like the entire world had cried. It only made sense— Sonic was a widely renowned hero after all, and he had died protecting the entire planet from certain doom. Memorials and festivals and celebrations were held in his honor, all with the intent to spin his death in a positive light. Remember the good, rather than focus on the bad. Sonic’s friends had been frequent guests and organizers, gracious in their participation even though Shadow knew that they were hurting and aching on the inside, past the mask of their facetious smiles that never quite reached their eyes.

Despite their invitations, Shadow hadn’t attended a single one.

Setting down his full basket and picking up the container of strawberries with gentle hands, Shadow reveled in them. They were all a deep, vibrant shade of crimson, not a single one yellowed along the edges. They were perfect and ready to be eaten; a day later, and they surely would have gone bad. Shadow would have to eat them soon, and deciding to afford himself a rare moment of indulgence, placed the strawberries in his basket. They were his favorite fruit, so sweet and juicy, and yet, Shadow couldn’t even remember the last time he had eaten them.

Sonic’s precious little friends hadn’t been the only ones who had been crippled by Sonic’s demise. Shaken to his core by the near destruction that the deity had caused and without his prized nemesis to battle, Eggman had effectively retired. Done with his nefarious plots, his diabolical schemes to take over the world, he had essentially disappeared altogether. Last Shadow had heard, he had opened up an amusement park (a genuine and real one, mind you) somewhere halfway across the globe. How he had avoided arrest for all of his past transgressions, Shadow hadn’t the slightest clue, but he figured he was far from the person responsible for enforcing the law.

Some days, he wanted to find Eggman. Speak to him about what had happened, ask him if he had a device to turn back time. To undo what had happened. To revive the dead.

Most days, though, he didn’t have the energy to bring himself to try.

Shadow walked past the rest of the produce section and towards the checkout area. Buying any of it would do no good. All the fresh fruits and vegetables would do was rot in the confines of his sad home. And then it would be up to Shadow to dispose of their moldy and decayed remains, a cruel irony given how those were the exact words he would use to describe himself.  

Because Shadow…

Shadow was still grieving.

He was quick at the self-checkout kiosk, keeping his eyes averted to avoid looking at the monitor that displayed his face on the security camera. Rouge always complained that the security footage at self-checkout stations highlighted her eyebags and the wrinkles on her face, overall making her look horrible, and Shadow knew that whatever it would choose to display of himself would be infinitely worse.

Not bothering to wait for his receipt to print out after he had paid, Shadow grabbed his bags and prepared to exit the store, eager to leave. Existing in public spaces felt uncanny to him, like he didn’t belong. Like he was out of place, like everyone was staring at him. He wasn’t fond of being around people, stepping foot into reality and leaving his home where things were safe and familiar. Where he was free to reminisce upon Sonic and cling onto a past that slipped further and further from his reach every day.

Leaving the house meant returning to the present. And in the present, Sonic was gone.

Still, Shadow was a living being that needed food every once in a while, and though he could have potentially enlisted Rouge’s services to deliver him food, he knew better than to waste his breath asking. She would say no, given that she always insisted on getting tea with him, insufferable in how she so adamantly dragged him into the present even if it was just for an afternoon. She tried so hard to bring him with her, pull him forward, but moving forward took him farther away from Sonic, so he still lingered behind.

To say that Shadow had handled Sonic’s death poorly would be a grievous understatement.

He hadn’t accepted it at first. How could he? If the roles were reversed, he knew that Sonic would have never given up on him, and so, he searched. Endlessly, tirelessly, relentlessly. There was no stone on the globe that had gone unturned, though even Shadow’s fervent devotion had its limits.

After a half a year of searching, he had slowly given up.

It had been a gradual process. Denial had permeated every fiber of his being, because there was no way that Sonic the Hedgehog could have died. He had survived plenty of worse things before, hell, he had even perished one time and been brought back with the power of the Chaos Emeralds.

But there was no body to revive, and no Emeralds to perform the ritual.

And no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find evidence of either surviving the crash from the sky. The fatal strike from the Dark Leviathan. All fingers pointed towards both Sonic and the Emeralds exploding upon impact, and though his denial was a powerful thing, the truth was ultimately hard to refute.

Shadow clenched his fists around his grocery bags as he walked down the empty street. Denial had turned to anger.

Anger had turned to sadness.

And now, here he was. An empty husk devoid of emotions. A pathetic waste of space, existing in limbo with one part of him clinging desperately to the past and the other forced to exist in the present.

He kicked up his skates to run home once more. Ready to outrun his thoughts and reflections once more now that he didn’t have the grace of being distracted by the mundane, mind-numbing nature of grocery shopping.

But the road was finite, and as he finally made it home and unlocked his door, making his way up to where the kitchen rested on the second floor, Shadow was forced to face his reality.

Every night, his dreams were the same.

Every night, he was forced to watch Sonic die. Over. And over. And over again.

Every night, he tried to change the course of events, what had happened. And every single night, he had failed.

Which made his dream from the previous night all the more strange.

Sonic wasn’t supposed to ever be in his room. He was never supposed to be so close, or look Shadow in the eyes, and hell, he wasn’t even supposed to speak. That had been perhaps one of the most agonizing things about Shadow’s recurrent dreams, was that he was always forced to witness Sonic from afar. It was an excruciating thing, to only be able to see him in the distance, a figment so fragile it may not have even existed at all. The memory kept alive and fresh, in the most sick, twisted way imaginable. 

The night prior had been the first time in years that his mind had allowed him to hear Sonic talk. Listening to his voice again, ringing in his ears, had been equal parts debilitating as it had been cathartic, and above all, unnatural.

But perhaps more uncannily, was the way that Sonic had looked at him. Like he was really seeing Shadow, perceiving him, peeling back the layers of his skin to study the depths of his soul. Sonic had never done that before in his dreams, never felt so alive.

Shadow’s hands trembled as he steadily unpacked his bags of groceries and placed the food in the fridge and pantry. His outward actions were methodical and controlled, the slight waver in his grip the only thing betraying his internal turmoil.

Was this the next stage in his spiraling grief? Was his heart so broken, so pining and desperate for the most cherished thing he had ever found, now lost, that he was hallucinating entire conversations?

The thought was more than a little unnerving.

His hand landed upon the last thing in his grocery bag. It was the container of strawberries, all red and plump and juicy. Though Shadow didn’t eat all that much nowadays, something about the ripe fruit caught his attention. Setting it on the counter, he popped open the lid, feeling something he could only loosely describe as excitement (or at least, a very cheap imitation of it) curl in his core as he prepared to sample a particularly enticing one sitting on the top.

However, as he plucked the strawberry from the pile, Shadow realized something. While the exterior had looked nothing short of scrumptious, peeling back the outer berry and peering into the  now-exposed container revealed an unfortunate truth.

All of them were moldy. Dark, blackened, rotted.

Shadow tossed the entire container in the trash.

Chapter Text

A few evenings later, Shadow found himself hunched over his piano late at night.

It was later than he had intended it to be. It was unlike him to play past the setting of the sun, both out of respect for his neighbors and an overall fatigue that would gently coerce him to head upstairs and into his bedroom after a certain point. But in the present moment, he was in the zone, feeling a feverish fervor overtake his mind as he worked out the kinks of a particular passage that had been eluding him for weeks now. Perfecting it, shaping it, honing it into something that might finally pass as acceptable.

The only light illuminating the room was an old glass-blown lamp sitting behind him next to the couch. Rouge had given it to him for his birthday some years back, stating rather matter-of-factly that she found his place to be very dark and foreboding and in desperate need of some ‘pizzazz’ as she put it, and while Shadow had initially turned his nose up to the gift, over time, it had grown on him. The light wasn’t harsh, the elaborate glass panes of the lamp shade softening it into a cozy glow, and though he would never admit it to Rouge, it was certainly one of his more favorite possessions.

The lamp was perfect for a night like this, a night where Shadow’s vision tired from staring at the sheet music and keys for such an extended period of time. Just enough light so that he wouldn’t strain his eyes, but not so bright that it might give him a headache.

With a sigh, Shadow replayed one of the sequences that hadn’t sat right with him since the very beginning. It had been a placeholder for a while now, but he was approaching the end of his piece, and so, it was time to fix up the minor issues speckled throughout the work. He currently had a thirteen-note run that was to be played in the span of a measure, and while he liked the rhythm of it, some of the notes sounded off.

There was one note in particular that he had isolated as being specifically problematic, so humming to himself, Shadow omitted the offending note, backed up a few measures, and began again.

After he played through, he concluded that while it still didn’t feel quite right, it did feel a bit better than the other variations he had tested out thus far. And so, picking up his pen, he jotted down the revision on the sheet music sitting up on the stand, already marred and peppered with dozens of other revisions.

He used the wood of the instrument behind the paper to brace himself as he scribbled down his note, not really caring if any of the ink from his juicy pen would leak through. Shadow’s standup piano was old. He had gotten it for free, the instrument initially being practically worthless with how horrible it had sounded. Tuning it had been easy enough, and though the sound was still somewhat muffled and muddied, it had served well enough for Shadow’s unpracticed fingers. There were some quirks with the ancient instrument, such as some of the black keys being partially eroded away with small chunks missing and one of the pedals not quite going all the way down like it probably should, but Shadow had learned to work with it.

In a way, he found a quiet, almost poetic solace with his piano. It was withered and worn down, just like he was, yet still capable of creating something beautiful in the hands of someone skilled and knowledgeable.

Stifling a yawn, Shadow glanced out the window. It had become a perfunctory habit; ever since he had imagined Sonic dancing away from him atop the rows of streetlamps lining the road, he frequently checked outside to make sure that his hallucination wasn’t still lurking, watching him, spying on him with piercing eyes.

As to be expected, there was nothing to see. Nothing but specks of light from the streetlamps and inky darkness in between.

It would be a bit eerie if Shadow wasn’t so comforted by the fact that there was no one out there.

During the day it was actually quite pleasant. His townhouse could see a sliver of the ocean in the distance, past the leafy trees that lined the streets of his neighborhood. It had been part of the advertisement for the property when Shadow had bought it with his savings from his tenure as G.U.N.'s top agent, a bold declaration that hadn’t quite lived up to what the real estate agent had stated. Shadow hadn’t really minded, of course—an ocean view wasn’t all that important given that some of the finer luxuries in life had been rendered inconsequential to him. Even so, the ocean was slightly more visible on the third floor, where his bedroom and bathroom rested, but on the second floor, where his kitchen and living room were split by the stairs climbing to the top, it was mostly concealed by the tall trees.

Shadow’s fingers absentmindedly roamed through the piece, and when he allowed himself to play a trill for a few beats too long, he let out a sigh and brought his hands to rest in his lap. His mind was wandering, which probably meant that it was time for bed. It had been a while since he had drained the last drop of his coffee, and unless he wanted to prolong his suffering by brewing himself another cup, now was as good a time as ever to give in to his exhaustion. There was a point, after all, when the revisions and additions he made to his piece became nonsensical. Continuing to work now would only give him more to clean up when he was in a better state of mind.

His resolution made up, Shadow reached a hand out to the top of his piano, preparing to collect his emptied mug that had once contained coffee, when he froze as he found something entirely unexpected lounging on top of the wooden instrument.

Lying on his side, a hand curled over the lip of the upright panel of wood to steady himself, his legs crossed casually over one another with a lazy, wolfish grin that made Shadow’s quills bristle and stand on end, was Sonic.

Or rather, the golden… thing… the abomination from his mind that appeared like Sonic when Shadow had last seen him. Gazing down at him in a predatory manner, making Shadow feel tiny and insignificant.

Shadow froze, his lips parting in surprise as this time, he couldn’t even muster a gasp of shock. All he could do was stare wide and unblinking, scared that if he closed his eyes even for a fraction of a second the vivid apparition might leave, the traitorous part of him that felt thrill at his appearance waging battle with the logical half of him that felt a trickle of dread pool in his gut.

He was back. Just like he’d promised. Shadow couldn’t handle this, couldn’t do this again, couldn’t talk to yet another hallucination, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

“Done so early?” Sonic drawled, the corners of his mouth extending so that his smile grew from being menial to downright maniacal, all before shaking his head and tutting. “What a shame. I was hoping I could hear you play the whole thing.”

Shadow’s jaw worked with the desire to speak, and yet, nothing came out.

Noticing this, Sonic’s grin turned lopsided in an almost teasing manner. “Apologies, did I frighten you? That wasn’t my intent, but your playing was simply lovely and I really didn’t want to interrupt.”

Shadow wasn’t sure if ‘fright’ was the best word to describe what he was feeling at the moment, but then again, he didn’t know if there were any words adequate enough to describe what he was feeling. His mind was in turmoil, his emotions an amalgamation of things that were impossible to decipher. And so, trying to quell the conflicting storm that raged within his head, Shadow tried to ground himself by asking a question that was direct, simple, and to the point. “What are you doing on my piano.”

Above the storm, a sense of confusion prevailed. Shadow was nowhere near the comfort of his bed… had he perhaps fallen asleep at the piano? Such a thing wasn’t unheard of for him—there were a few memories he had of waking up with his cheeks smushed against the keys—but this was different. Shadow could feel it in his bones… this wasn’t a typical dream.

Because his dreams never contained Sonic lounging idly atop his piano while he played. His dreams never involved Sonic speaking to him, never involved him directly interacting with him. And yet….

Here he was. Just like the other night. Seeming to be a little too real.

Shadow extended his coffee mug a private, decaying look. Maybe it was time to completely quit drinking the beverage for good. Clearly, the side effects of the caffeine were not worth the benefits.

His agitated musings were interrupted as Sonic’s harmonious voice, spoken like multiple people were singing a dissonant chord even though it was only his lips that moved, chorused once more. “Sitting up here seemed like the best place to listen and watch you play.”

Shadow didn’t like the way that Sonic said the word ‘watch;’ it sent a tingle of something unidentifiable down his spine. Unease, yes, but underneath that….

No. Shadow shoved it away, refusing to even put a name to the titillating sensation as he instead tried to focus on the discomfort of it all. Cling to a sense of right and wrong, if only to ground himself from indulging in something he knew would only lead to more heartbreak and pain.

Seeming to be bored by Shadow’s lack of response, Sonic reached down, plucking one of the pages of Shadow’s sheet music from off the stand. “What is this?” he asked as he flipped it around, quirking a brow as his crimson eyes skimmed the page. “Is this what you’ve been playing for me?”

“This is none of your concern.” Shadow’s retort was clipped and cool, his outward persona betraying nothing of what brawled within his skull. “And I wasn’t playing it for you.”

Sonic turned the sheet over in his hands, his brow quirking as he read the hastily scribbled line at the top. The thing that Shadow included with every copy and iteration of the piece just so that he would never forget who it was intended for. So he could never forget why he had learned to play, who he toiled so relentlessly over the keys for.

“'For Sonic,’” the hallucination commented casually, a hint of surprise worming its way into his tone before he looked up and fixed Shadow a cheeky smirk, one that made his eyes twinkle. “And here I thought that you had forgotten my name.”

Shadow’s hands itched to grab it back, but his fear of touching Sonic superseded this desire, so as a result, he did little more than sit idly by. His nose crinkled in disdain, his brow settled into a furious line, and yet, he did nothing but insist, “It’s not your name.”

Sonic’s eyes flickered with something unidentifiable before he handed the page of sheet music back out to Shadow, almost as though it were some sort of truce. A peace offering, from someone who had done nothing but cause Shadow agony. “Come now, won’t you play it for me?” he asked. “Seeing that you’ve written it for none other than myself?”

Shadow snatched the sheet of paper from Sonic’s hand, cognizant to not touch him, and shook his head emphatically. “No. It’s not finished.”

“A shame. Well, I suppose I should be patient and wait for you to finish it anyways. Wouldn’t want to spoil the ending, the grand reveal, now would we?”

Shadow didn’t really have anything to say to that, and so, he busied himself with collecting his papers and shuffling them into the correct order, hoping that if he ignored Sonic, he would grow bored and drift away. Skip over the streetlamps, disappear into the night. Allow what was so clearly a dream to shift into something new, something that wasn’t hellbent on torturing him with every word, look, and action exchanged.

Of course, Shadow should have known that Sonic wouldn’t be dissuaded by a lack of response, as he instead let out a contemplative hum and continued to speak. “Isn’t it fascinating, how a sheet of paper can create something so lovely?” he mused, rubbing his fingers idly together and creating a delicate spark of Chaos Energy that sizzled for a moment before dissipating into a shower of golden glitter that faded into nothing right before they hit the piano keys. “Something tangible creating something intangible. What a novel concept.”

Shadow paused in his rearranging of his sheet music, his ear flicking at this. He hadn’t realized that the Sonic his mind was capable of conjuring was so… poetic? Philosophical? It was peculiar to hear such profound thoughts come from someone who had exhibited so few instances of those traits, but Shadow digressed.

It was likely just his bleeding heart staining the edges of his memories.

“So…” Sonic continued in lieu of Shadow’s response, “when may I hear you play it for me? I’m dying to see what those fingers are capable of.”

The double entendre was not lost upon Shadow as he stiffened sharply, before hastily barking out, “Never,” in an attempt to conceal his deplorably visceral reaction. “Like I said. It’s not for you.”

Not for the memory that seemed content on manifesting itself in such strange, bizarre ways in his dreams. Not for a figment of his imagination.

It was for Sonic. The real Sonic, the one that was dead.

In response, Sonic let out a suffering groan; the first time he displayed any sort of exasperation towards Shadow as he splayed himself out over the top of the piano, creating quite the dramatic display. “You really don’t think it’s me, do you?” he queried, an edge of disbelief lining his tone. As if Shadow was insane for his doubts.

“I know it’s not you.”

I wish it was, though.

At this, Sonic sat up, perching himself so that he was sitting with his feet dangling over the headboard, his shoes inches from the keys. “Very well. What must I do to prove it to you, then?”

Shadow’s answer was blunt and abrasive. “There is nothing to prove.”

Sonic fell silent at this, his features contorting into contemplation as he glanced off into the distance. And then, after a few, long moments of blissful silence, silence where Shadow glared at him defiantly and secretly took the time to memorize every line, crease, and wrinkle in his desperately familiar face, Sonic finally lifted a finger in triumph. “I know what we shall do,” he announced. “Ask me a question. Any question. I will answer it, just like Sonic would.”

It sounded like a silly game, the kind that Shadow would have played with Maria when he was younger, and his protest at the absurdity of it was immediate. “Absolutely not. This is—”

Unfortunately for him, Sonic didn’t give him a chance to finish, bracing his elbows on his knees and using his hands to prop up his chin as he leaned down. “Are you scared, Shadow? That it might really be me?”

Though he had to crane his neck back from where he sat on the piano bench, Shadow still lifted his chin in defiance. “I’m not scared of you.”

That was a lie. And based on the glint in Sonic’s eyes, he recognized this as well.

“Then go on,” Sonic purred in encouragement. “If you’re not scared, ask me a question. One that only Sonic would know.”

Shadow should have said no. He should have refused to partake in this insanity, should have declined the invitation. But instead, he countered, “If I do this, will you go away?”

Sonic’s chin sank farther into his hands, the casual posturing a stark contrast to the hungry expression he wore. “For tonight, yes.”

Shadow hesitated. He should have bargained for more, should have demanded that Sonic leave him alone for good, abandon him to wallow and rot like he had been doing for years. And yet, that traitorous part of him reared its ugly head again, quietly insisting that Shadow wasn’t ready to never see Sonic again. Not when he had been suffering in silence for so long, not when he finally had the chance to do more than witness him die from afar night after night, even if none of this was real and tangible and meant anything. “Fine,” he finally gritted out, pausing for a moment as he searched his brain for something to ask. There were a million things Shadow wanted to know truth be told, such as why he was still in his Super Form, or why he insisted on bothering Shadow when it was clearly unwelcome, or why he was appearing now, after all this time, but none of those would adhere with the rules of their little game.  And so, he finally settled on inquiring, “What’s your favorite food.”

“Child’s play,” Sonic chided, “that’s really your opener? That’s the best you could come up with? You insult me, truly.” 

“Answer it, then.”

To Shadow’s relief, Sonic leaned back from where he remained perched on the piano. Above him and out of reach. “Chili dogs,” he said smugly, before spreading his arms to the side, his fingers splayed out to accentuate the gesture. “Now challenge me, try a harder one.”

Shadow’s eye twitched, and despite feeling rather ridiculous, continued to play along. “What’s the name of your best friend.”

“Another easy one?” Sonic asked incredulously. “Tails, of course.”

“His real name.”

“Miles ‘Tails’ Prower the Hedgehog.” Sonic tapped a finger to his chin, pausing as he softly chuckled to himself. “The last part isn’t legal, though. I just like calling him that to get under his skin.”

A growling noise of displeasure rumbled in the back of Shadow’s throat. This fantasy was correct, of course; Shadow had heard Sonic call his brother by not only his full name, but with the ‘Hedgehog’ moniker at the end purely for the sake of the joke. It had been years since he had last seen Tails’ annoyed yet amused reaction, but he remembered it clear as day due to how absurd the entire spectacle had been. Tails was clearly a fox, so calling him a hedgehog had been nothing short of imbecilic in Shadow’s humble opinion, and not at all funny. Just purely foolish. 

Shaking his head, Shadow asked his next question. “Who was your archenemy.”

“Dr. Robotnik.”

“That’s not what you called him.”

“Again, with the semantics?” Sonic asked with an incredulous chuckle. “Eggman, Egghead, Eggsforbrains, Eggsaladsandwich... need I go on?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. Naturally, those were all correct. Of course. “Where was your favorite place to run.”

“Green Hill Zone. I was particularly fond of the loop-de-loop.” Sonic paused, his fond and reminiscent expression slipping into something a bit more mischievous as he pinned Shadow with a troublesome look. “And if I recall, you would intercept me frequently when I was out on my runs. Almost as though you knew I would be there, seeking me out.”

Shadow felt his face heat up at this—of course his hallucination of Sonic would be privy to his innermost thoughts and air them out. Because embarrassingly enough, it was true. He had done that intentionally, following Sonic, memorizing his routes, planning his days on the off chance that he would get a coveted encounter with the one he had superficially labeled as his rival.

If anything, this only proved that this Sonic was merely a ghost borne from Shadow’s wistful psyche. There was no way that the real Sonic would have ever noticed Shadow’s manipulations; he had been hopelessly dense and refused to make any assumptions about people that weren’t of virtuous pure-heartedness. Which meant, he would have never interpreted Shadow’s borderline-stalkerish tendencies for what they were.

Pure, downright infatuation. Obsession. Need.

The imitation of Sonic gave him a knowing glance, and sensing that he was about to say something meant to dig under his skin, Shadow was sharp and hasty with his next question.

“How did you die.”

At this, Sonic’s face split into a wide grin, the complete opposite reaction Shadow had been expecting from his blunt demand. The smile was one that was indulgent and chilling and made Shadow’s fur raise with how eerily menacing it was. “Trick question, Shadow,” Sonic practically sang, mocking him with every syllable. “I’m not dead.”

There was that ripple again, the shift that felt like reality was bending around them for a split second, warping and contorting before it snapped back to how it had been before.

Shadow wanted to question it, but so caught up in proving that this Sonic wasn’t the real one, he ignored the strange occurrence and pressed on with his queries. “Then when was the last time we saw each other."

"I was here a few nights ago, have you already forgotten?" 

"Before the other night.”

Sonic drummed his fingers along the wooden lid of the piano he sat on. Precise, deliberate, and unnerving. “If I recall correctly, I had found you at G.U.N. headquarters and tried to convince you that we needed to prematurely awaken the Dark Leviathan before it emerged on its own, so that we could take it on together before it was at full strength.” He laughed, seeming to find good humor in a memory that had mortified and haunted Shadow for the past few years, ever since he had found Sonic’s blackened and stained remains that made him conclude that his rival was dead. “You disagreed and said that you didn’t want to be responsible for awakening a beast that could destroy the entire planet. Said it was reckless even for me, even though I had all seven of the Chaos Emeralds to help us. We argued, things got heated, and it ended with you punching me in the face and threatening to kill me if I tried to wake it up.”

As Sonic spoke, Shadow squeezed his eyes shut and pinched at the inner corners of his eyelids with his thumb and pointer finger. Yes, that was an accurate retelling of the last conversation he and Sonic had ever had. Not a day went by that Shadow didn’t think about and regret that exchange. It was a culmination of all of his abhorrent traits that he loathed most: the violence, the anger, the frustration, all taken out on the person he had wanted nothing more than to love.

Feeling his anguish and rage begin to boil over, Shadow tore his hand away from his face and snapped his head up. “This is ridiculous. I already know the answers to all of these, of course you’re able to get them right.” He shook his head, bathing in his simmering fury, allowing it to cloak him as he redirected his ire to the one who poked and prodded at him incessantly. “You’re nothing more than a figment of my imagination. This doesn’t prove anything.”

In response, Sonic tilted his head to the side in contemplation, before to Shadow’s complete and utter surprise, settled into a crouch and leapt off the top of the piano, sailing over Shadow’s head and coming to a delicate landing behind him. As he whirled around on the bench to face him, he noticed how Sonic almost appeared like he floated down, and Shadow wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

And he certainly wasn’t sure how he felt about Sonic’s next question. “Then why don’t you ask me something that you don’t know, hm?”

Shadow’s fist curled at this, fingers clenching into the palms of his hand. “Because how would that prove anything?” His lips twisted in irritation. “This is all a waste of time.”

Unfortunately for Shadow, Sonic was not so easily dissuaded. “Come now, is there nothing that you’ve ever wondered about me? Nothing you’re dying to ask?”

Shadow remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. Because even though he intended to tell Sonic no, now please go away, he didn’t trust that those would be the words that came out. He had such little control, it was becoming apparent, and it slipped with each minute that he continued to interact with Sonic.

Seeing the indecision painted clearly across his face, Sonic offered encouragement. “Come now. Anything you want to know. I will answer with the complete and honest truth.”

The offer was tempting. Beyond tempting; it was the exact thing that Shadow had craved for years. Beyond having the chance to confess his feelings, a second chance with someone long gone, there were so many things he had wanted to know about Sonic. So many unanswered questions, so many loose threads that frayed and dangled in the wind, and here he was again. After all this time. Of dubious origin, of course, but open and willing to indulge Shadow’s fantasies.

He shouldn’t.

And yet, unable to help himself, he did.

“What was your first impression of me when we met.”

Something in Sonic’s expression softened at this, the demonic edge his golden features possessed easing in such a way that made Shadow feel incredibly uncomfortable with just how closely he suddenly resembled Sonic. Gone was that otherworldly, borderline evil aura, because all that remained was a delicate, almost pitying expression, one that soothed Shadow as much as it unnerved him. “Why Shadow,” Sonic murmured, his ethereal voice nothing short of admiring and reverent, “I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes upon.”

Shadow’s breath hitched in his throat, and in the absence of air, his pulse pounded in his ears. Stupid, stupid question; in giving this cheap imitation of Sonic, the one his mind so graciously created for him free reign to respond to his questions that didn’t have a concrete, factual answer, Shadow had set himself up for an absolutely gut-wrenching reply. One that made him want to double over in agony, yet somehow, he stayed upright in his seat on the piano bench.

Still, Shadow did have a bit of a masochistic streak, and despite his horror at Sonic’s response, he couldn’t help but ask yet another question. One even stupider than the last, solidifying himself as a foolish, lovesick moron.

“And what do you think of me now?” Shadow’s voice was breathless, edged with hope and desperation. He didn’t know why he asked, why he bothered in further breaking his heart with these fruitless fantasies that only had the capability of destroying him.

“Oh Shadow,” Sonic said, and there he went saying Shadow’s name again in that crawling voice that made something delectable and rotten all at once travel down his spine in a ragged shiver. It was criminal, both how much Sonic spoke his name and the effect if had every. Single. Time. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I met you.”

Shadow’s regret was instant and palpable. This was too much, too indulgent, too torturous. He had been an idiot to play along, to keep asking questions even when he knew it would bring him nothing but pain. Because hearing Sonic call him beautiful, speaking to him in the way that Shadow always yearned for, somehow made his broken heart fragment into even more pieces, a feat he hadn’t even known possible.

He had to end this. Now.

Blinking away the mistiness in his eyes, involuntary and treacherous that the reaction was, Shadow turned his back on Sonic. Before he could see just how much his words had an impact on Shadow, before he could see the tears that threatened to spill fall.

Despite the desolation that shredded him to pieces from the inside, Shadow’s words somehow came out firm and resolute. “Please leave.”

There was a shuffling behind him, the sound of footsteps, and Shadow stiffened as he could feel Sonic draw closer. It was the opposite of what he wanted, and so screwing his eyes shut and flattening his ears against his quills in an attempt to block all of his senses out, he spoke again, this time the words far less demanding and more of a plea.

“Please. I can’t… I won’t do this.”

There was a moment where nothing happened. The footsteps stopped, yet the golden glow Sonic’s Super Form cast across the room didn’t fade. Shadow wanted so desperately to turn around, to see him, to reach a hand out and hold him, but with a great deal of restraint, he didn’t. He simply sat there, his hands gripping the edge of the piano bench so tightly that he knew his knuckles were whiter than the gloves that concealed them, stabilizing himself so that he didn’t topple over or worse, run into Sonic’s arms. Envelope himself in the embrace he craved, even though it would be from a cheap copy that wasn’t even remotely close to the real thing.

Shadow focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out.

With each breath, the caressing glow faded around him, until he was finally alone. And it was only long after the lingering glow of residual Chaos Energy had left the room, plunging everything into darkness both literally and metaphorically, did Shadow pitch forward and rest his forehead against the headboard of the piano. He was tired, and the cool temperature of the wood was the only thing to quell the raging heat that pulsed beneath his skin, thrumming and alive.