Warning(s): very mild references to existentialism, brief mentions of blood/injuries, faint discussion of trauma
Note(s): Just so you guys know- my requests are open!
Pairing(s): Shadow x Reader (platonic)
Summary: After the world almost ends, you take a vacation to the woods and stumble upon an injured Shadow. Somehow, that leads to memes.
The cabin was supposed to be your escape- a quiet place to get away from the chaos of the past months. After the near-destruction of the world, you needed time to breathe, to remember what it felt like to exist without the constant shadow of disaster looming overhead.
Black pines surrounded the small, rustic cabin you’d rented for the season, isolating you from the rest of the world. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird, the scent of moss and earth occasionally wafting in to join your scented candles. The cabin was stocked with books you hadn't opened yet, a stack of old DVDs, and enough groceries to last you several weeks.
At first, you thought the peace would finally help you decompress. But then, just a week into your retreat, you found him.
It happened when you were out by the edge of the property, collecting firewood. The ground was still damp from last night’s rain, and the cool morning air filled your lungs as you worked. You were about to turn back when something caught your eye- a shadow darker than the forest floor. There, slumped against a tree trunk, was a figure.
At first, you thought it might’ve been a wounded animal, but as you drew closer, the figure came into focus- a hedgehog, but not an ordinary one. His fur was sleek and jet black, streaked with vivid red.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and his body was covered in dirt and dried blood. One of his arms hung limply at his side, the fur matted with crimson. His face was tense even in unconsciousness, his jaw tight as if bracing for pain.
Your first instinct was to run. After everything you’d heard about what happened in San Francisco, about the alien creatures that looked like him, you weren’t entirely sure this wasn’t some kind of elaborate trap.
But then you saw the way his hands twitched, the barely-there groan as his body shifted slightly against the tree. Whoever he was, he was hurt- and badly. Against your better judgment, you crouched down and reached for him.
“Hey,” you said softly, unsure if he could even hear you. “Are you-”
Before you could finish, his eyes snapped open. Crimson-red, glaring and sharp as a knife, locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey.
He tried to sit up, but his body failed him, and he slumped back with a hiss of frustration.
“Stay back,” he growled, his voice low and rough.
“Okay, okay,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just-” You hesitated. “You’re injured. Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his weakness.
You frowned. “Well, tough. You look like you can barely move, and I’m not just going to leave you out here to bleed out.”
His glare didn’t soften, but he didn’t argue, either. Taking his silence as reluctant permission, you carefully slipped an arm under him and helped him to his feet-or what you assumed were his feet. His entire body was tense against yours, and he flinched at every movement, his lips pulling back in a grimace.
“What’s your name?” you asked as you helped him limp toward the cabin.
He didn’t answer.
“Fine. I’ll just call you ‘Shadow,’ then,” you muttered, glancing at the distinctive streaks in his fur.
His ears twitched slightly, but he said nothing.
Shadow was… difficult, to say the least. He spent the first few days glaring at you from the couch, refusing most of your offers to help. He wouldn’t tell you what had happened to him, though the scars on his arms and the haunted look in his eyes told you enough to know it hadn’t been good.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said one night as you tried to convince him to let you change his bandages.
“No, I’m not,” you replied, your voice firm. “You’re alive, Shadow. That means you have a chance to… I don’t know, do something with that life. If I get to keep living after everything that happened, then so do you.”
He didn’t respond, but his glare softened just a fraction.
You quickly learned to navigate his boundaries. He didn’t like being touched, flinching away any time your hands got too close. Baths were out of the question; the mere suggestion of submerging him in water made him go rigid, his expression tight with barely concealed panic. He didn’t explain why, but the look in his eyes was enough to tell you it was more than just a dislike.
Shadow wasn’t much of a talker, but you filled the silence for both of you. You talked about the cabin, the forest, the stack of movies you planned to get through- whatever came to mind. He watched you warily, like he was waiting for a trap to spring, but you could see the way his ears twitched when something caught his interest.
He still refused help with his injuries, so you had to get creative. You left bandages on the coffee table, along with antiseptic and a small bowl of water. You caught him using them once, late at night when he thought you were asleep, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbled with the wrappings. You pretended not to notice the next day, but left extra supplies out anyway.
One evening, after clearing the dinner plates, you found yourself scrolling through YouTube on your laptop. Shadow sat on the couch, his arms crossed and his expression as stony as ever.
“Have you ever seen cat videos?” you asked, glancing at him.
“No.”
His tone was flat, but you could swear his ears twitched.
“Okay, you’re in for a treat.”
You clicked on a compilation of kittens doing ridiculous things- falling off furniture, chasing lasers, and leaping straight into walls. Shadow didn’t react at first, but as the video went on, you noticed the tiniest shift in his posture.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his voice.
“Stupidly adorable,” you corrected, grinning.
The next video was about parkour, showcasing humans flipping and jumping across rooftops with almost superhuman precision. Shadow watched intently, his eyes narrowing.
“They’re untrained,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “Untrained? They’re flipping off buildings!”
“Sloppy landings,” he replied, pointing out a particular freeze frame. “They’re not conserving energy.”
By the time you clicked on a video about world-record chili pepper eaters, Shadow had shifted to sit a little closer, his gaze flicking between the screen and your face.
“I don’t understand modern humans,” he admitted after a while. “Your priorities are… strange.”
“You don’t need to understand us to laugh at us,” you said. “That’s half the fun.”
And for a split second, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Over the next few days, the two of you fell into a rhythm. Shadow was still guarded, but he began spending more time in the main room instead of retreating to the corner like a wounded animal. You started sharing more of your world with him, using movies and YouTube videos to explain things that might otherwise be overwhelming.
One night, you put on an old sci-fi movie. Shadow sat stiffly at first, his arms crossed, but as the plot unfolded, he began asking questions.
“That ship’s trajectory doesn’t make sense,” he pointed out during a chase scene.
“It’s not supposed to make sense. It’s fun,” you replied.
“Poorly designed fun,” he said, but he kept watching anyway.
By the time the credits rolled, you were bickering over which character was the smartest. Shadow defended the antihero, arguing that their cold logic was a strength, while you rooted for the idealistic protagonist.
“Idealism gets you killed,” he said bluntly.
“Sometimes it saves the world,” you shot back.
He didn’t answer, but his expression softened, and you realized he might actually be enjoying himself.
The next morning, as you prepared breakfast, you decided to rope Shadow into cooking with you. He was reluctant at first, standing stiffly by the counter with his arms crossed.
“This is pointless,” he said as you handed him a bowl of eggs to whisk.
“It’s called being productive,” you replied. “Besides, I’m not feeding you for free.”
He muttered something under his breath but took the bowl anyway. His whisking was surprisingly precise, and when you commented on it, he gave a small shrug.
“I’ve handled more complex machinery,” he said.
“Whisking eggs is complex now?”
He glared at you, but there was no heat in it. “You know what I mean.”
As the two of you worked, you found yourself relaxing in his presence. There was something oddly domestic about the sight of Shadow chopping vegetables with laser-like focus. When you burned the toast, he smirked.
“Untrained,” he said, echoing his earlier critique of the parkour video.
You tossed a dishtowel at him, laughing despite yourself.
It took time, but Shadow eventually allowed you to help with his bandages. The first time you reached for his arm, he stiffened, his crimson eyes narrowing.
“I just want to help,” you said softly, holding the fresh bandages in plain view. “You’ve been doing this alone for a while, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away, either. Slowly, carefully, you unwound the old wrappings, your fingers brushing against his fur. His muscles were taut, like he was bracing for something, but he stayed still.
“You’re healing,” you said, trying to fill the silence. “Not as fast as you probably could if you’d let yourself rest more, but still.”
He snorted softly, but there was no malice in it.
The day you broached the subject of a bath, you might as well have suggested dragging him back to whatever horrors he'd escaped from.
“You need one,” you insisted, gesturing toward the grime clinging to his fur. Weeks of dirt, dried blood, and debris were taking their toll. “You’ll feel better.”
Shadow’s expression darkened, his arms crossing defensively. “No.”
“It’s not like I’m asking you to take a bubble bath,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “I just think you’d feel more comfortable after-”
“I said no!” His voice came out sharper than usual, almost a growl, and his crimson eyes flared with warning.
You raised your hands in surrender. “Okay. Not a bath, then. But at least let me clean you up. You’re tracking dirt everywhere.”
For a moment, you thought he might argue further, but instead, he exhaled slowly and gave a small, reluctant nod.
You grabbed a comb, a basin of warm water, and a washcloth, sitting on the cabin floor beside him.
He remained rigid, seated on the couch, watching your every move like you were preparing to attack.
“Relax,” you said gently, dipping the washcloth into the water. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Shadow didn’t respond, but his posture didn’t soften, either. As you reached up and began combing through his fur, he flinched at the first touch, his muscles coiling under your hands.
“Sorry,” you murmured, slowing your movements. The comb caught on a knot, and you worked it loose carefully. “Does this bother you?”
He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the wall as if trying to focus on something-anything-other than your hands.
Finally, in a low voice, he muttered, “I don’t like water.”
You glanced at the basin, confused. “You mean the bath? Or…?”
“Being submerged,” he clarified, his tone clipped. “It reminds me of the testing. The tanks. The needles.”
Your hands froze mid-motion, and your heart clenched at the quiet bitterness in his voice. You didn’t press for more details, but you could picture it: confined spaces, cold metal, and water deep enough to drown in, all designed to break him down.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly, resuming your work but keeping your movements slow and deliberate. “I didn’t know.”
He didn’t reply, but the stiffness in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. As you worked, you decided to fill the silence, hoping to distract him from the memories you’d unknowingly stirred.
“Did you know we have robots now that vacuum floors by themselves?” you said, trying to keep the conversation light. “They just wander around, bumping into things until the place is clean. It’s kind of ridiculous.”
Shadow glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “That sounds inefficient.”
“It is, but people love them anyway,” you said with a small laugh. “They even give them names, like ‘Roomba’ or Stabby.’”
“That’s idiotic,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of interest in his tone.
You smiled and continued combing, occasionally using the damp cloth to wipe away the grime. As you worked, you talked about other things- smartphones, online shopping, the absurdity of meme culture. You explained how humans seemed to revel in making the mundane entertaining, and to your surprise, Shadow started asking questions.
“How do these… memes work?” he asked cautiously, as though the word itself was foreign to him.
“Oh, where do I even start?” you said, grinning. “They’re kind of like inside jokes, but the whole internet is in on them. Here, I’ll show you some later.”
Shadow huffed softly, but he didn’t object.
The knots in his fur took time to untangle, and the process was slow, but you could tell he was beginning to relax. The tension in his frame lessened with every careful stroke of the comb, and by the time you were done, he almost looked comfortable.
“There,” you said, sitting back to admire your work. His fur, though still patchy in places from old scars, gleamed faintly in the soft cabin light. “Much better.”
Shadow’s gaze lowered to inspect himself. For a brief moment, he seemed almost puzzled, as though he didn’t quite recognize the reflection of his former self.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his usual gruffness muted.
“No, but I wanted to,” you replied, setting the comb aside. “Everyone deserves to feel like themselves. Even you.”
Shadow’s crimson eyes flicked toward you, and for the first time, the weight in his gaze seemed lighter. He didn’t say thank you, but the slight dip of his head was enough to tell you he appreciated it.
As you cleaned up the supplies, Shadow remained on the couch, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure if you’d made a dent in his walls, but for now, this was enough. It wasn’t about fixing him or changing him- it was about showing him that someone cared, even if he wasn’t ready to accept it yet.
You had spent the past hour setting up for your little stargazing picnic: a thick blanket spread out over the grassy clearing near the cabin, a thermos of hot chocolate, a small lantern, and, of course, a few snacks. You had expected Shadow to dismiss the idea as "unnecessary human indulgence," but to your surprise, he hadn’t objected when you told him to come along.
The stars were brilliant tonight, scattered across the velvet sky like shards of crystal.
You were just about to point out a particularly bright constellation when a rustling sound came from the edge of the clearing. Pausing mid-sentence, you glanced toward the noise. It was faint at first, just the soft crunch of leaves, but then you spotted movement- several small, shadowy figures creeping toward the edge of your blanket.
“Raccoons,” you muttered, watching as one bold little thief waddled closer to your snack bag.
Shadow followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as the furry intruders approached. One raccoon reached for the bag, its tiny paws tugging at the edge of the plastic.
“Hey! Shoo!” you called, waving your hands in an attempt to scare it off. The raccoon ignored you entirely, its determination unwavering.
Shadow rose smoothly to his feet, his presence immediately commanding. “They’re scavengers,” he said, his tone flat but with a hint of amusement. “Persistent ones.”
Before you could respond, Shadow moved toward the raccoons with an ease that bordered on predatory. Despite his usually intimidating demeanor, he didn’t make any sudden movements. Instead, he crouched slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto the nearest raccoon.
“Leave,” he said simply, his voice low and firm.
The raccoon froze, its tiny paws still clutching the snack bag. Shadow took one deliberate step forward, his posture relaxed but unmistakably in control. The raccoon hesitated, then let out a chittering noise and backed away.
The others seemed to take the hint, retreating one by one into the underbrush, their rustling fading into the night. Shadow straightened, brushing his hands together as though the matter had been entirely routine.
“Well, that was effective,” you said, grinning as he returned to the blanket.
“They’re opportunistic,” Shadow replied, sitting down beside you once more. “All it takes is a stronger presence to remind them of their place.”
“Stronger presence, huh? Should I start calling you the Raccoon Whisperer?”
He shot you a sharp look, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips before he turned his gaze back to the stars.
You leaned back, stretching out on the blanket with a contented sigh. “Thanks for saving the snacks, by the way. I guess I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing,” he said quietly, his voice soft against the backdrop of the night.
For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the faint chirp of crickets.
A few nights later, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you noticed Shadow standing nearby. His posture was stiff, as always, but there was something different about him tonight- an awkwardness you couldn’t quite place.
“You’ve been hovering there for the past five minutes,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
Shadow hesitated, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as though he was reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“I have… prepared something,” he said, his voice unusually formal. “As an expression of-“ he paused, visibly struggling to find the words. “Gratitude. For your… companionship.”
You blinked, lowering your phone.
“Wait, did you just call me your companion? Are we about to embark on a grand quest or something?”
Shadow shot you a look, but as always his usual glare lacked an edge. Instead of responding, he reached behind himself and revealed a small piece of paper. He handed it to you with the kind of precision that suggested he’d been planning this moment for far too long. Curious, you took the paper and unfolded it.
What greeted you was not some dramatic declaration or poetic verse- no, it was a crudely drawn meme.
The image, clearly printed from a computer, featured a cartoonish drawing of Shadow’s crimson-eyed silhouette standing stiffly in the corner. Above it, in bold, all-caps font, were the words: "WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY THANKS, SO YOU MAKE A MEME INSTEAD."
You stared at the paper, processing it for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Wait- did you make this?”
Shadow crossed his arms, his expression a mix of pride and irritation. “Yes. It seemed… appropriate.”
“Oh my god,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from your eye. “Shadow, this is amazing. I’m just imagining you sitting there, typing ‘how to make a meme’ into a search engine.”
“I research,” he said stiffly, looking slightly to the side. “It is not difficult to grasp the basics of modern human humor.”
You held the meme closer, letting your laughter fade into a warm smile. “Thanks, Shadow. Seriously. This is… oddly thoughtful.”
He gave a small nod, still not meeting your gaze. “You have been… tolerable company,” he muttered. “Perhaps even enjoyable. At times.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, folding the paper carefully and tucking it into your pocket.
“For what it’s worth, you’re not so bad yourself. Maybe I’ll hang this up on the fridge.”
Shadow frowned. “The refrigerator is not an appropriate place for-”
“Too late,” you said, grinning. “I’m framing it. It’s a masterpiece.”
Shadow sighed, but as he turned away, you caught the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
