Chapter Text
The storm bellowed from outside the window, and Shadow felt particularly blessed to be indoors. His home was not big, but it didn’t need to be, this small log cabin contained everything he needed and perhaps a couple of things he didn’t. Not excessive but not empty.
He removed the teabag from his mug, throwing it into the compost bin as thunder rumbled beyond the walls. Luckily he was far enough from the forest should lightning strike. He hoped the fox boy was okay. They hadn’t spoken in some time but thunder always brought him to the front of Shadow’s mind.
Shadow relaxed into the large plush bed. He didn’t require sleep too often, being a genetically modified freak of nature, but in his middle age he’d found some comfort in a good nights sleep.
Sometimes he did wish to not be so alone, though. But no matter.
He was happy with his little life. Alone. A couple of friends he contacted when he felt like (maybe twice a year). No end of the world threats anymore. No Eggman. No partner to have to share his routine with. No children to scream at him.
He liked it. At least, he thought so. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, really.
And then there was a knock at the door, and a frantic, over the top ringing of the doorbell. It startled him. Who would be here at this time of night, in this part of the hills?
Was he scared? Possibly. He was strong and it was likely nothing he couldn’t handle, but he wasn’t that kind of scared. He suspected it not to be a physical threat, in fact, he almost hoped it was.
…
“Okay.”
The dark hedgehog frowned at the soaking wet figure in his doorway. HIS doorway.
In HIS home.
“Hey, long time no see!” The scraggly creature laughed half-heartedly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as Shadow turned away, passively allowing him inside.
“Take off your shoes,” he bluntly requested, as the other creature cringed at the muddy footstep he had just imprinted onto the wooden floor right on cue.
Shadow went over to sit by the kitchen island.
“Why are you here Sonic? It’s 1am.” He was pissed, justifiably so.
Sonic always found him hard to read. Especially so when he was a few shots into the night.
“Do I need a reason to see my old bestie?”
“At 1am you do, yeah.”
Clearly Sonic’s lighthearted one liners weren’t going to cut it. He made his way over to the kitchen, trying to walk in as straight a line as possible, and basically collapsed onto a stool opposite him, as if walking were the only time he needed to maintain his sober facade.
“You in trouble again?” Shadow’s face remained unreadable.
“You look older. I didn’t know you age-“
“How much to do you need, just get it over with,” Shadow broke eye contact with the kid. The 40 year old kid, as he reached for his wallet which was strewn haphazardly over the counter with a few other things.
“What? No. No! It’s not like that, Shadow!” Sonic wanted to be offended but…it was only logical for Shadow to assume.
“I’m not in trouble. Well, not with uh, people, anyway…”
Too cryptic. Shadow wasn’t having it.
“Just tell me what you want!” He snapped, and pretended he didn’t regret it upon seeing the blue hedgehog’s ears pressing flat against his head.
Now that he had a moment to really take the state of him in beneath a lit room, Shadow noted what a mess he was. It was probably the worst he’d ever seen him. Soaked through, shivering, skinny as a twig, with wide bloodshot eyes that wore dark, exhausted bags.
“I’ll get you a towel.”
…
Something in him couldn’t just…kick the sorry creature out. Once Sonic had dried off his quills, Shadow fixed him a small meal of leftovers and some hot tea, figuring he needed whatever calories he could get right now.
Sonic ate slowly, awkwardly, like he felt he didn’t deserve it. Because he didn’t. Not after everything he’d put them through.
“You still drinking?” Shadow asked rather casually, knowing the answer already. But he needed to hear it. He needed to see if he lie-
“All the time. Yeah.”
“You tried stopping.”
“Of course.”
“You using?”
“Yes.”
The way he admitted it….it was odd. It felt like a confession, like Sonic had just crashed on the steps of a monastery seeking aid from a servant of God.
He asked again, but more gently,
“Sonic, why are you here?”
Sonic didn’t answer for a while. He chewed his mouthful of macaroni slowly, as if it were horribly undercooked, and swallowed it in individual pieces.
One he was finished, he delivered a rather sorrowful smile.
“I just missed you.”
….
Shadow did not get to sleep that night, instead he watched over his refugee.
His ex.
As he slept uncomfortably on the couch.
Sure he could have offered the bed, but who knows how many nights worth of dried vomit was crusted within that blue fur. Plus, he was annoyed. Annoyed over the nights antics and the bullshit of those bittersweet 7 years.
Which was exactly why he watched over the creature. Would he rise early and root through his draws for money? For valuables to sell? Would he raid the liquor cabinet that Shadow had ONLY JUST got used to not having to keep empty.
Would he die in his sleep from whatever mix of substances he’d most recently consumed?
He was certainly not sober that night but at least not wacked out of his mind.
Well, wacked up enough to end up here, he supposed.
Shadow just stared at him for hours. He could’ve done so much with that time. He could have finished his book, or started a new knitting project, or called Rouge, or signed up for a dating sight , or-
Groans of general discomfort interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the room, to the sounds of 6am birds and the smell of last nights rainstorm, and a hungover hedgehog.
It was always worrying to see what the morning would bring for him.
A hangover from one night of excess was one thing, something most have experienced regardless of their habits and values, but the morning state of an addict was much more than a hangover. It was the pain of a body being repeatedly poisoned beyond processing every day, it was a swollen, dysfunctional liver, and soul crushing guilt that spread to everyone in the room. The realisation. The apologies. The promises to never do it again. To stop drinking. To stop using. To stop all this so you can get married finally, have kids. He’s never gonna touch a bottle again, he swears.
Meaningful promises to never do it again. To get help.
And yet still be drunk by noon.
“You having a war flashback, sir?” A sore voice quietly enquired.
Shadow dried his eyes, and once again took in the sorry sight that had wound up in his living room. HIS living room.
“You look so ill, Sonic,” he sniffed, no longer minding if he cried or not.
Sonic looked down, ears once again flattening as he hugged his legs into his chest.
“I tried, Shadow. When I….last time…,” he wiped his eyes, “it just doesn’t work. Nothing works. I can’t beat this.”
It was terribly sad. The former hero of Mobius, the carefree teen all the kids had looked up to, the one who took down the Eggman, who fought and lost and still kept fighting, endlessly. How could he become this? It was not supposed to end this way for good people.
But he wasn’t good, at least, he hadn’t been once he got into all that shit. He lied and stole. He deceived. He hit and yelled and manipulated and abused.
Shadow wasn’t sure if 25 years of constant world saving neutralised the behaviour that followed.
Was he supposed to be mad? It had all been so hard to figure out. The hero of Mobius should never have been the hero at all. He should have been a kid. He should have gone to school, and college, and got a job. A normal one. A nice but sort of boring one. And then had kids to breakup the mundane, with Shadow. In this house. Their house.
“I want to get better Shadow, for real this time. I just…”
“I want to help you Sonic, I do.”
“How do I…begin? What do I do? I don’t know what to do?!” He was a snotty crying mess.
Obviously he was.
He’d been an addict his whole adult life. He didn’t know anything else. Even the glimpses of normal he’d experienced with Shadow were just part-time. He would drink himself to oblivion in the evenings. He’d pop a pill to stop the nightmares or smoke the day away. The sickness destroyed his mind and body to the point he no longer resembled, or even felt like who he really was. Shadow knew somewhere under all the lies and anger and sorrow was the beautiful boy he’d fallen so deeply in love with. In love enough to stay with him as he grew sicker and sicker. But he was lost, maybe forever.
Sometimes Shadow wouldn’t see him for days, until he got a call from a hospital. And that happened so many times, it became almost habitual. And eventually Shadow was dating the sickness, not Sonic. And he couldn’t stay with that monster.
“Would you ever…if I…you know…got help. Would you consider-“
“No. Not again.”
It was blunt. But boundaries were important, and an addict never got that.
“Okay.” It was too quiet. Too final. Shadow hated himself, which was strange because his therapist told him boundaries were about loving yourself. This was how he showed Sonic love, too.
Apparently.
“You got any smokes?”
Shadow exhaled. He didn’t care about the smoking. He did it himself, granted it did no harm to him and a lot to Sonic, but it felt fitting.
Any way this poor little guy could find some method to get out his head, no matter how small it was, he’d use it.
“In my coat pocket. Take the 50 too. And get out.”
He went to shower, and when he got back, Sonic was gone.
…
Later that evening he would find, so was a bottle of his favourite whisky.