the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, and for all the obscenities and vulgarities sonic could scream out to vastness of the stars, none of them would suffice. none of them would matter, either.
he'll never forget the day, the hour, the minute everything crawled to a halt. the moment is a blank slate on his memory. red on red burns the back of his eyes, etched across his brain for eternity to come. the visual is blotted, a tear in the film of his mental projection. he still sees knuckles' body, just laying there, motionless in a way that forever nauseates. he was somewhere far away, somewhere empty, somewhere where none of this existed.
he remembers everything.
he remembers nothing.
he's already had his moment; to scream, cry, sob and yell and rage and claw and maim and maim and maim and maim ( they refuse to say what happened next, they won't tell him what he did that day. it's answer enough. ) he's already dragged himself back home, looking entirely as harrowed as he feels. he's already used the last of his composure to hold tails through the fox's own meltdown. he's already had his moment to weep until there were no tears left to shed. he's already wrongfully lashed out at the whole family, because they didn't lose what he lost, and that's not even true, except that it is. he's already replayed what happened over and over and over again, desperate to fault himself for the uncontrollable; because carrying around blame that cannot be placed for the rest of time is fucking inconceivable.
he's already gone back and forth with himself about whether or not attempting a traditional burial is something knuckles would appreciate or resent. he's already crumbled beneath the pressure of knuckles' death taking an entire culture with it, he's already berated himself for not being the atlas he needs to be.
the absence weighs on him like led wrapped around his ankles, dragging him down to the ocean floor. ( he'd leapt in to save him, once upon a time, dreaded the notion then but nonetheless did what heroes do. now, he's beckoned to join him, down at the bottom of the deep blue sea, and there's a wretched little piece of him that wants nothing more. )
he can't talk about it. he can't air the true weight of his grief. he wouldn't know how to say it. they never knew, he never told them, not even the dearly departed. they don't know about the two of them, they don't know what one came to mean to the other, tom and maddie are still alive and well and in each other's arms, they don't know what it's like to lose your—
...he can't talk about it.
the calm after the hurricane. he sits at the memorial, sits on the beach amid the wreckage of a desecrated coastal town. ( the waves lap gently at the shoreline, the clouds drift across the sunset. he wonders how the world can feel so normal after losing everything. ) a rock at the head of the marker, a custom from tom's side of the family; a symbol of eternity. poetic.
knuckles mentioned something about a battleground in the sky. sonic hopes he's up there, reunited with his people, doing whatever the hell they'd all do together ( if he had to guess, fighting. ) he hopes they'd welcomed him back with open arms, he hopes they'd honored his heroism, his sacrifice. they'd better. he tries to feel at peace with the fact that at least knuckles is home. he stifles down the bitter voice that screams this was his home.
sonic stands, wipes away the tears, and forces himself to be strong.
[ knuckles has died. sonic tells himself he's coping. ]
there are ACTUAL, LITERAL TEARS RUNNING DOWN MY FACE. I AM WEEPING. I AM NOT COPING EITHER SONIC also this is the death meme
