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In hindsight, Sonic really shouldn’t have waited this long to actually do his chores. But the forecast said it was only going to drizzle outside at most. And what even are 30 mile- an- hour winds to someone who can run to San Francisco and back in the time it takes a human to blink? On the other hand, taking out the trash is the absolute worst. The garbage can is Tom and Maddie sized, meaning Sonic is barely eye level with the darn thing. Getting the bag out would be easier if Knuckles was around, but he’s up in the attic. Something about “keeping in touch with the great battleground in the sky,” and Tails is out in the shed doing recalibrations on his new proprietary tablet that he wanted to unveil to everyone by the end of the week. Which means his next best option is grabbing a kitchen chair, thanking his lucky stars that Tom and Maddie aren’t here to tell him to stop standing on furniture with his shoes on, squat down, tie off the bag, stand up, and awkwardly hop off the chair with the bag in tow, plonking it on the floor as he resets the chair. Easy as pie.
Now all Sonic has to do is take the trash bag that’s almost his height out to the end of the driveway, where the bins are. The bag’s not the heaviest thing in the world, but it is bulky, repeatedly smacking against his leg. Sonic can’t even go fast, lest the bag get worn to and break. Dragging it along on the ground will have roughly the same effect. Not to mention holding it over his head runs the risk of getting trash juice in his quills, which was embarrassing enough to ask Maddie to help get out once. Repeating that a whole year and a half later isn’t something Sonic is keen on doing.
The drizzle of the rain outside, though, is a lot heavier than Sonic expected it would be. It’s dampening his gloves, is difficult to ignore when it falls on his face, and introduces an all- too- familiar chill to his body.
No.
He’s taking out the trash. From the house. The house that he lives in. He doesn’t hide anymore. Humans don’t do that in people- homes. And Sonic’s a people now, which means he gets to live in a people- home built for actual people and the people of Green Hills let him pretend to be one. But, Sonic’s seen what letting something pretend to be a person looks like, and It’s Ozzie on his birthday getting sung to and pet. Nobody actually expected the golden retriever to think or have manners. Therefore, Ozzie gets to be Tom and Maddie’s goodest boy, and Sonic gets to be a people.
Eventually, Sonic makes it to the bins. He knows logically he walked the whole way, but he can’t seem to remember actually walking all the way here. His gloves just magically got a bit more wet, and his fur’s more saturated too. Looking up to check how hard the rain is falling proves to be a mistake, so he instead looks back at the binds, and starts swinging the trash bag like a pendulum.
One… two… three! Swinging it backwards and over his shoulder lets him land the bag in the bin with no problem. He flips the bin lid back up, and turns to head back inside, when he feels a breeze blow through him. He’s already damp, and the wind only serves to chill him to the bone. It freezes him in place, hollowing around the newfound hole in his chest.
For a brief moment, Sonic turns to head back to his cave. He needs to get somewhere safe, where the clouds can’t see him. But there’s a people- home right there. His people- home. There’s also a blanket of fear draping over his shoulders, but being somewhere warm should help stave off the cold.
Has he just been standing here this whole time? How long was that, exactly, staring out at the trees?
Dashing to the front door proves to be a mistake. All the water in his quills and fur makes him even colder as the breeze he creates flows past him. The fear draws tighter around his shoulders as he notices how little cover the house provides. The windows on either side of the front door could let someone who comes up to the house see inside. The kitchen also has windows. Most of the living room is also too exposed for anyone who wants to pry to take a peek inside and see that there’s something in Green Hills that’s not supposed to be here.
Wait a minute. In one of the corners of the living room, across from the gas fireplace, is a couch on one wall, and a loveseat on the other. There’s a blanket basket in between them, but if he curls up between it and the couches, he’s in the blind spot of the window behind the couch and the blankets might provide just a little bit of warmth. Warmer than he is now.
Sonic curls up into a ball in that spot between the couch and the blanket basket. He lets the blanket tossed on top drape over him. Taking the whole blanket would draw attention to him and he needs to hide. The vent kicks on behind him, and he flinches to get away from it, as it momentarily worsens the chill clinging to his fur. To him.
He hears footsteps, and it’s like the gears of a car are crunching in his head, trying to shift from drive to reverse too quickly. There’s noises of whoever it is rummaging around, grabbing something from the fridge. A snack probably. Maybe a drink. Tails normally takes a break to grab a snack around this time. But if those footsteps get too close, it’s over. But Sonic can’t breathe too loud in all of his panic, because that will only draw attention to him.
Why isn’t the blanket helping? Sonic’s cold, only marginally warmer than when he came inside the house. All of his shivering has done nothing but blur the line between cold and fear. The footsteps from earlier fade, and he takes a deep, careful breath. Quiet. Good.
He opens an eye, peeking around the living room through the gap between the couches. The fireplace is on, and probably warming up, but getting there means putting himself out in the open. And then Ozzie walks by. Sniffs the air. Stops right in front of Sonic’s hiding spot in the living room. This is bad. Catastrophic even. Ozzie doesn’t know that Sonic needs to hide. Wouldn’t get why it’s important.
The gears crunch in his head again. He’s not in a people- home just to hide. He lives here. It’s his home, isn’t it?
“Did someone leave the front door open?” Tome calls from the entryway. “Hello? Ozzie?”
Ozzie looks up from Sonic’s hiding place, but doesn’t move. He lets out a warbling noise, somewhere between a whine and a bark.
“What’s going on, bud?” Tom asks, rounding the corner. Getting closer. Ozzie lets out a more insistent noise, pawing at where Sonic is hidden. The blanket of fear feels like it’s draped over all of him, made worse by the fact that it doesn’t make any sense. This is Tom, for goodness’ sake. He likes Tom. So why is him crouching down in front of him making it sound like there’s a kick drum in his ears?
“Sonic? Are you okay?” Tom asks, worming his hand around an armrest, under a blanket, to rub the spot right above Sonic’s eyebrows.
Is he okay? If the thinks about it, everything’s fine. But that doesn’t explain the fear, or the fact that he’s not sure what he’s hiding from. Mind made, up, he starts squirming, going from a sphere of hedgehog to squatting on the ground. Tom gets the cue, moving himself and Ozzie farm back enough to let Sonic squirm his way out from where he wedged himself.
“To answer your question, “Sonic starts, trailing off a little “I don’t really know? I just, got cold, and my feelings just sorta stop making sense after that.” Tom looks over him, concerned and a bit confused. After a moment, though, it seems like he’s gotten an idea.
“Well, how ‘bout we go warm up by the fireplace, and we can work our way backwards and figure out what’s going on in that head of yours.” It’s an offer that loosens the fear that’s been draped over him. He nods, and the two of them walk across the living room, with Tom as his buoy to hold on to. Sonic, selfishly, puts Tom between himself and the windows, and the two of them sit down.
Sonic is still damp, but the warmth behind him finally reaches his bones in a way the blanket basket couldn’t. Finally looking over at Tom, whose hair and shoulders are also damp with rain, still in his tan sheriff’s uniform.
“So, you said you got cold?” Tom starts, lacing his fingers together, and tapping hist thumbs.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Sonic curls over, elbows on his knees, not looking Tom in the eyes. “Took out the trash, the drizzle got heavier, and it didn’t… just feel like rain.”
“Then what did it feel like?” Tom shifts over, turning to face Sonic more. He pauses, squinting at his hands like he’ll find the answers there. He breathes like he’s about to start talking, thinks better of it, and then tries again.
“It felt like… when it would rain in the cave.” Sonic realizes, brows rising. “I was cold, and scared. The cave wasn’t anywhere near as well insulated as this place. The blankets I had didn’t do all that much once they got wet, too. The sky at that point was already a pretty flaky friend, but having to hide from it still hurt.”
Tom leans over, putting his arm around Sonic’s shoulders. “That does sound pretty scary. But all of that does make sense. Sometimes, experiences stick with us, and so do the feelings from them. Your brain’s just trying to protect you using the information that it has.”
“But then why would it be wrong?” Sonic leans back looking at Tom, the confusion from before showing on his face. “I know I have a home now, that I don’t have to hide anymore. And the sky isn’t my only friend anymore either. Why doesn’t my brain know that?”
“You’ve been living with us for a shorter amount of time than you were in the cave.” Tom pauses for a moment, trying to choose his words. “If you want, we could try and work out ways to remind your brain that everything’s okay?”
Sonic leans back, closer to the fire place, and runs his hands down his arms. The fur by this point has dried out, and he’s warm again.
“I think the fireplace did it, and so did having someone to talk to.” Sonic says, the corners of his mouth starting to turn up.
“Oh yeah?” Tom asks, mirroring Sonic’s smile. His hair is dry as well, and a lot frizzier now, too.
“It’s hard for all the feelings of being cold and sorta- kinda- horribly alone to stick around when I’ve got the best fur dryer I could ask for and someone…” For how strong Sonic had started, he’s hesitating now “safe.” He decides, smile growing wider.
Now it’s Tom’s turn to blue screen. Something like pride flickers across his eyes before, “You want some hot chocolate?” he asks, getting up and extending a hand.
“Only if I get to put a handful of marshmallows in my cup!” Sonic takes it, popping up from where he was seated.
“No more than half a handful, Sonic.” Tom shoots back, unamused. “I’m not picking mini marshmallows off the floor again/
Sonic, still smiling, rolls his eyes. “Fine.”
The cold has finally been chased from his bones, and the promise of hot chocolate goes a long way to keep the feeling of his old burrow caving in out of his chest.
Maybe his lucky stars need to be thanked that there’s people in his life now, too.