Chapter Text
Rain pooled in the streets of cobblestone, mirroring the world in swirling patterns, distorted by the frigid gusts of September.
Sonic had never given it much thought - far too focused on motion and distance. And yet, as he glanced down now, he couldn’t help but scoff, a sad little chuckle that broke through the quiet - reminding him of why he was here in the first place…
Her
The storms weren’t anything new, a typical barrage of flooded streets and crispy leaves, and yet, for some reason, it didn’t feel the same this season, a neverending barrage of darkness devoid of the smallest glimmer of light.
He wished he could say it was ephemeral, but deep down, he knew…
Amy had been an open window, a gentle breeze snuffing out flames, the sense of peace and love amongst an autumn of darkness and decay.
With a heavy exhale, Sonic’s vision drifted up to that tiny little cottage...the one that often beckoned him in with the scents of vanilla and sugar, now no different than the air around it - fresh rainfall, forest pines and the static scent of soaked earth.
In the windows once stood an array of flowers, tended to with calculated precision. The roses once pristine now dried and withering, fragments of petals crushed into dirt.
He could nearly make out that ruby red dress, dancing around in a kitchen full of flour, laughter echoing through corridors of tile and stucco.
His lips parted as he sucked in a shaky breath. Slowly, he approached, boots treading lightly on buried patio stones.
He wanted to shout, to call out her name as if nothing had happened, and yet, he knew better. He’d been here more times than he cared to admit:
The first night she was gone,
During the first snow,
When they finally distributed all her belongings.
For a moment, he stood motionless on the doorstep. The butterfly knocker he got her last Christmas gleaming in the light of the moon, that lavender paint once pristine and glistening now peeled and faded.
Just as he reached for the brass fixture, he realized the futility of such a gesture. With a tiny frown, he pulled a key from the base of his quills, pushing it into the deadbolt instead.
With a grunt, he threw his shoulder into the door. It creaked as it strained against the frame.
The interior didn’t look much better than outside, floral furniture and neon portraits, coated with a layer of dust and grime.
With a sigh, he pushed past the doorway, moving through a corridor lined with photographs, a gallery of ghosts he refused to see. Sonic forced himself past each smiling face, past every frozen memory, until he crossed into her bedroom. His eyes landed on the neatly stacked outfits in the closet. Hesitant, he reached out and scooped them into a giant handful. With a slow, ragged breath, he let them fall on the bed with a hollow thud. Sequins and organza, cotton and silk, tumbled together in a kaleidoscope of color.
For a long moment, he just stood there, dumbfounded by the task before him.
He thought back to Tails’ instructions…broken down for even a grief-stricken mind to understand:
Pull them from the closet.
Place them on the bed.
Create three piles: donation, Cream, garbage.
But how could he sort an entire life into neat little piles?
As he thumbed through the fabric, his chest constricted. Holes and snags, some mended, some threadbare, some unraveling beneath his fingers.
In a way, it felt…poetic. Fitting.
Mud-caked hemlines, strawberry stains, parkside picnics, busted seams, added darts. Each one a tiny, stubborn trace of her.
Sonic’s world began to fog and glisten. If only he could hear her one last time, just get a redo at those final movements.
When suddenly, a sound stirred behind him.
For one reckless heartbeat, Sonic’s chest tightened with the cruel, instinctive hope that grief had finally crossed that last boundary... that it had learned how to give her back.
An ear twitch. The faintest shuffle in the hall.
His breath hitched.
Then reality came crashing down.
Sonic’s stomach dropped, hands balling into fists as he turned halfway, ready to snap, to defend this place, this moment, this last fragile thing that was still his.
This room was sacred. A reminder of what he’d lost.
Chaos- what they’d all lost.
No one else should have been here.
And yet…
“...Mr Sonic?”
In the doorway stood Cream.
Small. Still. Her ears drooped low, clasped tight in front of her as if she too were holding it together. Red-rimmed eyes, shining not with curiosity, but with the same quiet grief that choked the room.
Sonic tensed for just a moment, and then…
Let his hands relax at his sides. With a heavy exhale, he released the tension in his jaw and shoulders.
“...Cream.”
She hesitantly took a few steps forward, eyes still locked on Sonic’s.
For a few seconds, he stood there, frozen in indecision.
And then he turned, gathering Amy’s clothes one final time, moving them to a spot near the headboard.
He glanced back over at Cream when suddenly, a realization hit him:
It was 1pm, on a tuesday.
“Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”
Cream’s vision drifted down to her shoes, eyes welling up with a layer of tears. “Please don’t tell Mother. I just…”
She took another few careful steps. Sonic stepped forward, ushering her to sit on the bed.
…as she’d done so many times before.
Back when Amy was still alive
No
He couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, he shifted, plopping on the mattress beside her.
A tired smile met his lips, plastered over his true expression - years of practice.
“It’s okay.” He finally cooed, wrapping an arm around her little shoulders, pulling her in for a tight embrace.
For a while she sat there, breathing in Sonic’s scent.
And then, once Sonic had adequately shoved his own feelings down, he spoke.
“Did you follow me here, Cream?”
His words carried the light weight of authority, accusatory but without added bite.
Cream shuffled awkwardly in his grip, expression a mix of guilt and shame.
“I just…” She hiccupped, tears falling freely now.
Sonic sat silent, tightening his jaw just a little.
“I knew you had to be coming here. I needed to see the house again.”
Cream’s words broke at the edges, frayed and bitter like the hole left in her little heart.
Sonic tightened his grip on her shoulder.
“This place is so dirty! Miss Amy would hate it!”
The rain outside picked up in intensity, battering the windows, like even the forest was weeping with them.
Sonic leaned over, placing his head on top of hers, eyes numb.
Softly he whispered two simple words, something he'd realized the second the door opened.
“...I know.”
For what felt like an eternity, the two sat on the edge of the bed in a tight embrace, letting the storm restlessly pummel the windows with rain.
Beneath him, Cream trembled in his arms, shoulders rocking as she buried herself in his fur.
Sonic's heart ached, not just from his loss, but hers someone so young, forced to live with the consequences of his decisions.
It hurt more than going through clothes.
It hurt more than losing Amy.
It hurt more than he could handle.
Like a dam on the verge of being burst, a couple tiny tears trickled down his muzzle, staining her ivory fur in a couple wet patches.
Cream didn't seem to notice, nestled between layers of fur and skin, cobalt and peach, somewhere that these days, felt closer to healing than anything this old house could provide.
After a couple shaky breaths, Cream pushed Sonic away, turning to face him.
“I've got an idea.”
The sheer determination in her tone caused Sonic to flinch. He blinked away the last remaining tears in his eyes.
“Hmm?”
“Let's clean the house, Mr. Sonic.”
Cream didn’t wait for an answer. She hopped to her feet, frame full of determination and fire.
Sonic stayed seated for a moment longer. The cottage felt heavy with Amy’s absence, and yet, as he scanned the room with a more critical eye, he could tell it was in desperate need of a duster and mop.
“Alright” He finally said, voice tight. He rose slowly, careful not to startle her. “We start small.”
He picked up a stray pillow from the floor and hung the clothes back in her closet. A task for a day when he felt a little stronger.
With Cream’s help, the two pulled the duvet across blush colored sheets, folding it over with a neat little tuck by the pillows. Cream’s eyes lit up at the simple task, oblivious to the fragments of memory Sonic quietly shielded her from.
All those nights holding Amy close, bushing the quills away from her tired eyes, pink and blue fur, sandwiched between layers of grief and cotton.
Every movement he made was deliberate, sweeping a shelf here, stacking a few dishes there…not just to clean, but to guard Cream from the weight of loss lingering in every corner.
The two made quick work of Amy’s bedroom…
And then, Cream stilled.
Her fingers lingered at the edge of the mattress, tracing floral patterns in the duvet. For a second, Sonic thought she’d simply grown tired.
“...Mr. Sonic?”
Her voice wavered, small and thin. She didn’t look up.
“If we make the room look nice again…”
She swallowed.
“Does that mean she’s really gone?”
Sonic’s expression hardened. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure what answer would hurt her less.
Cream’s grip tightened on the duvet, knuckles whitening under pressure. “I just…don’t want to forget her.” She whispered, tears spilling over once more. “I don’t want me to forget.”
She folded inward, shoulders shaking, the duvet slipping from her grip.
Sonic was there instantly, kneeling, arms wrapping around her before grief could pull her under. He held her tightly, one hand wrapped around her shoulders, the other, resting gently on the back of her
head, cradling her, the way Amy once had.
His words came out fast, like he was trying to let it all flow before he, too, broke.
“You won’t forget her,” He said quickly.
“But what if I do?!”
Slowly, he brushed a hand across her head, letting the fur split between his fingers.
“Shh” he soothed, rocking the two back and forth.
After a while, Cream’s breathing evened out. She wiped at her cheeks with a sleeve and glanced around at the room.
“I…think we did okay.” She said quietly. Then, after a pause. “The kitchen’s probably worse.”
Sonic huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh. “Yeah that’s…probably my fault.”
He shifted, standing first and offering her a hand. “I made a mess of that room more than once.”
Cream slipped her small hand into Sonic’s. Together, they stepped into the hall.
His eyes scanned the counters, the sink, the cabinets, once bright, cheerful and alive, now dulled, coated with layers of neglect and grime.
He said nothing, letting Cream move first.
She hopped onto a stool to reach the counter, wiping away a smear of something sticky.
“Miss Amy hated when I crawled on the cabinets like this.” She murmured to herself. Flour dusted the edge of the sink where a mug had been left.
“She always spilled a little when we baked together.” Each word was small, precise, a memory projected into the space, like Amy was still in the room.
Sonic handed her a rag, letting his fingers brush hers for a little too long - a quiet tether.
He leaned against a far counter, watching her movements carefully. She stacked plates, swept crumbs, and folded a towel. Every motion coaxing the room back to life.
And yet, the ghosts of Amy’s laughter hung heavy just out of Sonic’s reach.
Then, he saw it, a chipped mug, the one he’d gotten her for Valentines all those years ago, coated in a layer of ruby red lipstick on the rim.
His hand froze, jaw tight, breath caught in his chest. The kitchen sharpened into that single, small trace of her. Cream glanced up, noting Sonic’s sudden stillness, but kept moving, tiny fingers hovering just a little too close to the mug for Sonic’s comfort.
“Hey…” His tone came out sharp. Cream froze in response.
Sonic inhaled, softening, though his eyes never left the mug.
“Don’t…touch that….please.”
She hesitated, eyes wide, slowly moving the rag to the other side of the sink.
Sonic coughed, brows lifting just a little.
“She…always forgot the dishes.” He murmured, voice quiet, almost to himself.
Cream’s movements slowed, but she didn’t stop, clumsily, she reached for the faucet, turning on the water to rinse a plate. Then, glancing up at him, she giggled, voice soft.
“Miss Amy said that was your job.”
Sonic’s eyes flicked toward her.
He let a short, humorless chuckle slip. “My job was taste testing.”
Cream let out a tiny laugh, the sound bright in the quiet kitchen, returning to her scrubbing. Sonic didn’t move from his spot, but the corner of his mouth twitched, the weight of his memories lightening
just a little.
Cream hummed softly, wiping a spoon she’d set aside. She paused, eyes tracing tiny swirls of meringue that clung to its edge. Sonic noticed her hesitation, realizing that Cream missed Amy just as much
as he did.
After all, the two of them cooked more than Sonic. When he was off saving the day, Amy had been here, babysitting Cream for Vanilla after school. Cream had learned to measure and whisk in this very kitchen, often sneaking in spoonfuls of cookie dough when Amy wasn’t looking.
Cream lowered herself closer to the sink, brushing her fingers over a faint smear of sugar. Her brow furrowed just slightly, as if trying to solve an invisible puzzle. Sonic’s gaze stayed on the chipped mug, but his chest tightened.
“Mr…Sonic? Did Miss Amy…always leave big messes like this?”
Sonic froze, fingers pressed lightly against the counter, jaw tight.
“She…”
A breath caught in his chest.
“...No.”
Cream tilted her head. “So…”
“Not normally.” He clarified, clearing his throat.
“She…left in a hurry.” He quickly finished, avoiding her gaze.
A pause. Cream glanced down at the smear of sugar she’d been wiping, tracing it with a fingertip. “Why was she in a hurry?”
Sonic exhaled softly, letting his shoulders ease just a fraction.
“Let’s…finish cleaning.”
Cream opened her mouth like she wanted to protest, but before she had an opportunity, Sonic was behind her, a blur of blue light, hooking his arms under hers to lower her from the counter. She landed softly, a small squeak escaping, and then blinked up at him, cheeks flushed with color.
The two worked to finish the job, filling the space with motion rather than more conversation. By the end, the counters gleamed, the sink had been emptied (except for the chipped mug), and the floor had been swept.
Cream surveyed their work with a satisfied nod.
“We did good, Mr. Sonic.”
Sonic set a dish towel down on the counter.
“You did good, Kiddo.”
Slowly, he moved toward her, ruffling her ears with a quick gentle scratch.
Cream squeaked in surprise, her giggle light and unguarded. “Hey! That tickles!”
Sonic grinned, letting up just a little. “Yeah, well, you earned it.”
The wind outside picked up, shaking trees and rattling the windows. Rain hammered harder against the panes, pushing the grey skies further into darkness. Sonic glanced toward the front door.
“Looks like that storm is getting serious.” He murmured, brushing an errant quill back in place. “We should get you home before it gets worse.
Cream nodded, still smiling faintly. With a determined huff, Sonic moved toward the entry, pulling an old umbrella off of a stand.
The two stepped into the rain together. For a brief second, Sonic’s gaze drifted back inside, past the doorway, past the counters, and to that chipped mug still sitting in the sink.
Cream’s question from earlier echoed quietly in his mind. “...Why was Amy in such a hurry?”
Sonic swallowed, chest tightening. The answer, impossible to speak aloud, etched itself into his mind like a permanent scar.
“Because I failed her.”