I’ve been working on a project for @sonicsupernova with @summerroseart and @shxro524 (who unfortunately ended up being too busy to participate but still deserves their flowers!!) on a project called “starchild”!
I was unable to finish the writing piece because apparently everything important happens between October and December but I have very long snippets for you to tide you over until I release it sometime next month 🫣
both pieces below are by summer!!
without further ado (tw blood ⚠️🚨):
———
Sonic gasps, torso shooting forward. He forgets how to breathe for half of a second before his lungs fill up with oxygen like they’ve never had it before in his fifteen years of life.
Heart racing faster than the speed of light, he takes a few deep breaths of the stale night air so he doesn’t choke again and presses the heels of his ungloved paws into his eyes as he tries to get a hold on himself. Tilting sideways so that his body falls back into the couch and blinking a few times to adjust to the darkness, he takes inventory of his surroundings.
The television on the stand is on but the screen is black, something that keeps happening consistently without anyone around anymore to fix it. The blanket that had been draped over him when he crashed onto the couch earlier that night was now on the floor, likely kicked off in his sleep. The hallway light is on, meaning Tails still hasn’t come out of the workshop, too busy crafting to get a good night’s rest.
Sonic stretches, pushing himself onto two feet so that he can give his little brother a piece of his mind and maybe drag him to bed himself—
Oh.
He sniffs, rubbing his nose.
Tails isn’t here, and he left the light on before he went to bed out of habit.
Hm.
Green eyes shift across the room to the sky blue scarf that’s draped across the chair like an afghan, then down to Chip sleeping on top of it. Stumbling across the living room and bumping his knee on the coffee table in the process, Sonic gently pulls it out from under the dozing mobian and sits on the edge of the armchair. A long white stripe cuts through the centre of it, a yellow star marking the end of the strip of fabric instead of tassels. A glint of gold catches in the moonlight at the place where it bunches up, and the hedgehog shifts his hand to brush against the small ball of fox fur.
Tails hated scarves because they always caught his pelage so easily, but Sonic bought it because it brought out his eyes, and Tails wore it anyway because it was Sonic’s parting gift to him.
Something to tether him when being by himself in the world got to be too much.
(Little did either one of them know that it would be the last gift Sonic ever gave to Tails.)
He makes himself yawn— so he can convince himself that’s why water is brimming at the edge of his eyes— and glances at the clock on the television stand.
5:05 AM.
It’s definitely not the first time night terrors have yanked him out of sleep in the middle of the night, and it certainly won’t be the last.
It won’t be the last because it’s hard to forget your best friend’s blood floating in zero gravity as you try your hardest not to chase him down to Earth because you still have a fight to win.
It’s hard to forget the sight of them glitching in and out of existence in your arms, because the very thing that sliced them through the chest was meant to rid the world of all life so it could start over.
It’s hard to forget the look on a literal god’s face when they tell you that they can’t reverse the damage.
It’s hard to forget the sight of sky blue eyes fading to grey, or the feeling of a cooling body going slack in your arms, a heartbeat slowing under a bloodstained palm until there’s no thumping sensation at all, the memory of blood that isn’t yours drying in your fur after it was all said and done, you left it there because you were in shock and couldn’t comprehend ridding yourself of the DNA of the boy you loved so much because it was one of the only things you had left of him—
No. Stop.
Sonic presses the scarf into his face, letting the scent remind him of hugging a small fox kit and resting his chin in the spot between his neck and his shoulder, of falling asleep with his quills resting on one of two fluffy tails, of cobalt blue and gold mixing together.
He looks down at Chip, sound asleep, mussed-up fur blending with the burgundy armchair and tries to push away the resentment in his head. Chip is his friend, regardless of whether or not he had the ability to save his best friend, and Sonic can’t blame him for something that was out of his control.
(Because if anything, Tails’s death was his own personal fault, because no one told him to block a laser that was meant to destroy the entirety of the world.
Sonic doesn’t blame Tails either, because if he were in his little brother’s shoes he would have done the exact same thing, but he wants someone to blame, to the point where he’s starting to consider that it was his fault for even allowing Tails to go super.)
The hedgehog slides off of the arm of the chair and onto the cushion, pausing in the act of making himself comfortable when Chip stirs awake. Drowsy eyes lift slowly to look up at the blue hedgehog with his arms wrapped around his knees in the centre of the chair.
“What time is it?” Chip asks sleepily, shifting to be in a more attentive position.
Sonic sighs into the air and pushes him down gently with one hand. “Late. Go back to sleep.”
