Meh

Simon being trapped, barely conscious, in the tree he tried so hard to save. The eel being just as conscious. Essentially sharing a body via the tree means they don't need to speak to hear each other. The eel berates him, telling him that only the light- the angel- can save him now, and he should be grateful if it ever chooses to.

The tree, meanwhile, has been searching for somewhere safe for the human who risked and paid everything to survive, to save the seed it grew from. It finds a haven in a not-so-distant universe, on a planet that doesn't exist in their universe.

Simon wakes up in a soft bed, hearing something like English, or Martian? It sounds... Biblical. Like the passages Father would read from that old book that was barely holding on, that had been digitized when the spine finally fell apart, and the holy book itself was made into fertilizer for the Last Tree.

He looks around, seeing clean, new equipment. An IV drip in his arm. He can still hear that ancient voice, but it's mixed with musical notes. He looks towards the open doorway, really just an arch to mark where one room ends and the next begins, and sees what must be the Angel that the eel wouldn't stop shouting about. It's humanoid, but it has golden wings, matching the gold hair on its head, looking like a halo.

Simon's eyes are wide, something is beeping rapidly, the Angel turns to him, looking... Worried? No. Maybe annoyed. But surely the Angel wouldn't be worried about the Butcher. Even if the Angel had decided that he'd repented for his sins in life, he has to behave now that he was in heaven. Or maybe it was somewhere between, while the Angel and God decided where to put him.

The Angel is checking him for something, he doesn't know what, but it's talking a lot, in the old English he barely understands.

"Hey, hey it's okay! Take a breath, okay? Can you do that?" The Angel asks, and Simon understands that it's not really a request, and he's glad he can understand enough to know what to do. He sucks in a breath, and let's it out harshly. Earning praise from the Angel and a request order to do it again.

Eventually, Simon's calm enough to actually listen to the Angel, understanding slightly more than before now that he's focused on listening instead of panicking. The Angel's name is Grace, as if it weren't already obvious that what's in front of him is his Devine Judgement. He tries to speak the Angel's language, introduce himself to his terrifying Savior. But his words are choppy, or slurred. It's been years since he's said a prayer or hymn.

The Angel is forgiving, smiling at him kindly, and thanks him for telling it his name, as if he had a choice.

A few days pass. The Angel is patient, letting Simon recover at his own pace. He supposes that redeeming a soul takes more work than just suffering for who knows how long; he has to be rehabilitated in order to be allowed inside heaven, even if this space already feels heavenly.

He learns how to speak English more fluently and, despite the Angel's protests, only gives him more epithets and titles.

Angel, Savior, Healer, Teacher. Sometimes, Simon thinks he could find a way to use Lover, if he were brave enough, if he truly thought the Angel loved him, instead of performing a duty.

The Angel doesn't seem to mind Teacher as much as the other titles, but it he says he still doesn't like how Simon says it, even though Simon doesn't know how else he could say it.

"Like a teacher is something to be feared. I don't want you, or anyone for that matter, to fear me. I'm a human, like you. No better or less." Simon's Savior would say, but he's just being humble, just like an Angel.

Simon breaks a rule once, almost a month in, and he begs forgiveness. He admits his transgression and hopes for but does not expect his Savior's mercy. He does not cry. Not until he's met with gentle touches and kind words and understanding and complete, utter forgiveness.

His Angel (his Grace, as he's come to accept that he's not an actual angel, but the last known avian hybrid was killed before Simon was ten, so this is still undoubtedly the afterlife) forgives him without a second thought, seeming mortified by the idea that they would cast Simon out over "something as small as not finishing his food."

Food, and water, and fresh air are in abundance here. But Simon still can't take them for granted. They could be taken from him at any time. Even if his Savior's name means mercy, he shouldn't expect it. Even as time passes he learns how to relax, how to play with the tiny living pebbles, and how to talk with the larger living rocks. He knows how to live here, he could do so forever and be happy.

He plays along, but Simon can't believe his Healer when he says he saved the stars and planets. That humanity is alive on Earth, only 16 light-years away.

His fear lessens, but doesn't leave him, not completely.

It's only after months of this that he's relaxed enough for his mind and body to start processing all of his trauma. He has nightmares. Night after night. Waking in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. He refuses to ask his Grace for more help, though now he knows it would be given not just willingly, but happily.

One night is particularly bad. He's woken up by something-someone? And his first instinct is to attack, thinking it's that damned eel again, or maybe one of his more violent cell mates.

But it's Grace. His Grace. His Angel. His blood runs cold. He's spilled enough of it, he didn't want to spill any more, and especially not Grace's. Never Grace's. And now his nose is bleeding, and the sight of blood on his Savior's face sends him reeling. He reaches out to touch, to hold, to comfort, to help the way Grace does often when Simon scrapes himself in the garden, and stops short when Grace flinches away.

Grace's eyes are glossy, shining with unshed tears. Hurt, betrayed, and Simon is sure he looks no better, but he swears to never be the cause of that look ever again- if he's ever forgiven for hurting something so holy. Permitted to stay in this equally terrifying and relieving plane of existence.

He mumbles and whispers apologies, his throat closing up as he tries to beg, curling in on himself, hoping his Healer will give him enough grace to leave him there, to not punish him, not yet, because surely this deserved punishment.

Just as the first time he had begged forgiveness, his fear and guilt are met with kindness. A soft voice, if a bit stuffy, and a gentle touch that he can't resist leaning into, desperate for that very human comfort of skin on skin. He feels soft wings wrap around him, shielding him from the world and, perhaps, judgement.

Maybe his Grace has begun to love him, enough to shield him from judgement. It must be a risky move, even if he's technically not an angel.

Armando patches Grace up, and they're both so tired that they collapse on the couch together.

I've spent way too much time on this in my head, so here's a whole new facet to the Sonic world no one asked for.

There used to be a thriving society of multi-tailed foxes, the nine-tailed were the oldest and most powerful, the two-tailed were the youngest and weakest. Though that's not to say that they are weak. Of the children of Mobius, the two-tailed foxes tended to be the most resilient and the smartest, usually only rivaled by the echidna's brawn and stubbornness.

But, as mortals are want to do, they decided that the multi-tailed foxes held too much power. Both innately as individual beings, and as a society. So they set out to end them entirely, finding more and more efficient ways to kill the otherwise immortal Mobians.

Eventually, the multi-tailed foxes perfected a glamour spell to hide their tails from the rest of the world, appearing as normal, mortal foxes. They went into hiding, most finding their way to some kind of community in the middle of nowhere made completely of other multi-tailed foxes. The two-tailed kits were no longer allowed to fly freely around their camps. In fact, the glamour was hard enough for the older generations to use that they couldn't hold it for their kits, making them stay inside until they started developing their magic and could learn the glamour themselves. But by then, they were usually three-tailed, no longer a tiny kit, but still in need of protection due to being sheltered so heavily.

The kits adapted to the new magic quickly, glamour becoming second nature to them.

Tails, of course, didn't get the chance to be sheltered or coddled or babied like the rest of the kits. His parents hadn't been able to find one of those safe havens where they could settle and have a safety net of others to trust.

The village leader saw Miles as a threat to their safety as a village. He'd heard the legends and myths of the multi-tailed foxes, passed down for generations as a warning that if they were to ever appear again, to end them before they can begin again.

After the house burned with Tails' parents bodies inside, he barely kept alive by learning how to avoid the adults. The kids were mean, abrasive, abusive. But the adults would kill him if given the chance. All because of some genetic mutation he couldn't control.

It's only years later, on his 20th birthday, when he wakes up with a third tail and powers he definitely didn't have yesterday, that he starts to question what he is.