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After they got Sonic home, Robotnik finally gone, the government a non-issue for now, all three of them filthy and stunned, Tom made the executive decision to put Sonic to bed.
“Not an argument,” he said, hand gentle on Sonic’s back, while Sonic dug his heels in like an obstinate horse.
“But—”
“No.”
“I—”
“Nope. You fight a crazy scientist and nearly die, you take a nap. That’s the rule.” He gave Maddie the help-me eyes over Sonic’s quills.
“Yeah,” she said. “One of the first things I learned…in veterinary school.”
“Huh,” said Sonic. “That’s weird,” and then he swooned into Tom’s arms in the middle of the kitchen.
“Sonic—” Tom could hear his voice, but couldn’t control it. “Sonic!”
Maddie’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to Earth. “Get him to the bed.”
The little guy was so light, like a doll.
“I’ll take a look at him,” said Maddie. “He’s probably just exhausted.” Quieter— “He’s going to be OK, Tom.” A promise. She never made those unless she meant them.
A few minutes later, Maddie came out of their bedroom and shut the door carefully behind her. She tiptoed over to Tom, who was sitting at the kitchen table with his head bowed. “Sleeping peacefully.”
Tom scraped his hand over his face. “Jesus.”
“Given what we saw him go through, I would think the damage would be worse than what I’m seeing.” She dropped into the chair next to him. “So I can’t rule out that his biology handles injury differently, in ways I can’t pick up on with a basic examination. But—his pulse is the same as earlier, and he’s snoring…I’ll run some more tests tomorrow.”
Maddie reached out for Tom’s hand, and laced their fingers together. The warmth of her skin was like a balm. Tom’s chest was clenched in a solid wall of fear and grief, which was insane. No one had died—no one they knew, anyway. Sonic was fine. He was just in the next room.
“I,” he said, “know…we have to talk.”
“Yes.”
“And I know…I’ve put you through enough in the last…”
“Forty eight hours,” Maddie filled in.
“Yeah.” Ozzy, who’d been investigating the closed door of the bedroom, padded over to them with slow interest. Tom reached down blindly with his free hand and Ozzy stuck his wet nose in Tom’s palm. “But.”
Maddie’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Not accusatorily—she looked mostly amused—but so tired. All Tom wanted to do was rub her feet and make her tea and read to her until she fell asleep. He stroked lightly over Ozzy’s head.
“Do you think you could stay here,” he said, “for…like, twenty minutes, while I go to the store?”
Her face twisted into confusion. “For what?”
“For…” He exhaled. “Uh. For Sonic.” The look of confusion didn’t clear, so, like pulling teeth, Tom forced himself to explain, “I want to do something for him. When he wakes up.”
“Okay,” said Maddie.
Tom didn’t deserve her. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said.
She shook her head, as if shaking off the idea entirely. “Please don’t take longer than twenty minutes,” she said to him kindly, squeezing his hand, “or you’ll find another loved one passed out in your kitchen.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”
He was halfway to Walmart before he realized the implications of what she’d said. Another loved one. He’d only known the kid for a few days.
Oh, come on. Who the hell was he kidding?
*
Sonic woke slowly. Details filtered in one by one. He felt heavy, so heavy. So warm. The pain in his body was dulled from the way it had felt before, like his whole body had shards of glass stabbing him inside. In his fantasy, he was in the house with the Donut Lord—with Tom—and Pretzel Lady. With the plush softness of the ground underneath him, and the warm blanket on top of him, he could stay in the fantasy as long as he kept his eyes closed.
Where had he gotten a blanket like this?
He chanced a peek. He was somewhere dark, but not pitch-black, with a white popcorn ceiling. A thick floral-patterned comforter came up to his shoulders—he had actually been tucked in. On either side of him the bed stretched out, massive.
Oh, wow. This couldn’t be real.
He flashed quickly around the room, picking things up and putting them down, then realizing he’d put them down in the wrong place and moving them back again so it looked like they hadn’t been touched. Running made the pain worse, but in the rush of euphoria he hardly noticed. Wow. This was their room. Their bedroom. In their house. He was still here. Someone had wanted him here. They’d tucked him into bed.
He went a few laps on the carpet, got back into the bed, got out again, and then slipped out the bedroom door and nearly ran over Tom, who was asleep, propped up against the wall with his legs splayed out and his hands and face slack. In his lap was a plastic bag full of some colorful items. Sonic skidded to a stop at the last second and had to windmill his arms to regain balance.
Tom’s eyes opened blearily.
“No, no, go back to sleep,” said Sonic. “Go—you’re dreaming, go back to dreamland, dreammmmmmmmms, shhhhhh,” and he started to inch backwards into the bedroom.
“Sonic,” Tom mumbled. “Hey—”
“No—”
“Hey…” Tom patted the floor next to him. “Wanna talk to you.”
“Oh.” Sonic looked at the floor. Looked at Tom. “Uh, okay.”
He sat down slowly where he’d been directed and put his arms around his knees. Tom rubbed his eyes and squeezed them tightly shut once, then twice, and then shook his head a bit and seemed to rouse.
“Where’s Pretzel Lady?” said Sonic.
“Pretzel—oh, Maddie. She’s on the couch. She doesn’t have work tomorrow, so she’ll sleep in.”
“Will she have to miss yoga?”
Tom looked bemused. “Maybe. How're you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” said Sonic, cautiously. “I mean, I’m good. Eggman’s gone, the town’s safe…”
“Yeah. You did good.”
Sonic didn’t want to examine the feeling in his chest, like a flower growing out of him. “You mean it?”
“Of course I do.” His eyes shifted away from Sonic for a second, awkwardly, before he said, “I…went out and got some stuff. I thought…running around in the dirt, fighting, falling off buildings…you could probably use a bath.”
Sonic didn’t move a muscle. Maybe if he didn’t move, he couldn’t mess anything up.
“So, uh…got a couple things…you don’t have to use them right now, y’know, if you want to sleep some more. Or if you want to, you could take them, or…I could…”
Tom trailed off, and Sonic stayed frozen for a couple moments, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
When no more words seemed forthcoming, Sonic said, “A bath sounds good.”
Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
“I can’t reach my quills that well on my own, though. And there’s a spot on my back…”
Tom smiled at him tiredly. “No problem, buddy, I can help. C’mon, let’s—”
Sonic, already on his feet, offered Tom a hand.
*
Sonic sat on the side of the tub and watched the water rise around his toes. It was weird to see his feet bare; he couldn’t remember the last time he washed them, which was kind of gross. Even taking his shoes off had felt weird. He’d placed them carefully against the wall along with his gloves and instructed Tom to keep the door shut tight so Ozzy couldn’t screw anything up.
“Too hot?” said Tom, behind him on the closed lid of the toilet.
“It’s perfect.” He wasn’t really sure what perfect felt like, really, but it felt right—not freezing, not burning.
“Online it said hedgehogs like water that’s just above room temperature.” Sonic was barely listening—moving his foot a bit to the side, water sliding over his fur. Back and forth. The water was nearly licking his ankles now. Everywhere it touched felt warm.
“I can just get in?” said Sonic.
“Yeah, whenever you want.”
“Here goes nothing.” He eased himself down into the belly of the tub, the water sloshing with the motion. His butt, his tail, part of his legs, were covered. Pretty soon his stomach was underwater, too. The water had almost reached his shoulders when Tom declared it good and switched off the tap.
While Tom rummaged in his bag, Sonic swirled a finger in the water—sped it up until it was barely visible, making a whirlpool.
“All right, here’s what I got. First, this little guy—” Sonic took the duck from his hands in a flash, and Tom reached out to give Sonic empty air before his brain caught up. “Little guy for a little guy. And a brush…hopefully it’ll work for spines. And some of the soap that the websites said would be okay.” In the seconds that Tom spent talking, Sonic mimed a mini theatrical production with the rubber duck, which had a pirate hat. The production ended with a heroic death, tongue lolling out, hand clutched to stab wound gushing blood (splashes of water), the works. Then the duck held Sonic’s body. Sonic was revived through the power of friendship, et cetera, bow for the audience. Tom’s smile was exhausted, but he clapped a couple times.
“You said you wanted some help with your quills, bud?”
“Yeah. If—if that’s okay.”
“Yeah. Just gotta…” Tom always moved so slowly, but especially now, when he was tired. Sonic itched to take the brush and soap and scrub himself all over in seconds, so he sat on his hands. Tom drizzled some of the foamy soap (which had Baby Wash on it in cartoony letters) on the brush and knelt by the tub. “Going in now,” he said, and Sonic bent his head down to give Tom easier access, a lump in his throat, not daring to move otherwise.
The brush felt weird, but not bad. Tom dipped it in the water of the tub, which made the water soapy and the brush wet, and made warmth trickle through Sonic’s spines with each brushstroke. Sonic looked at the duck, which was bobbing leisurely past his knee, and the duck looked back with its painted-on eyes.
“Going well, I think,” said Tom.
“You’d better not mess up my good looks, Donut Lord,” said Sonic without much heart in it.
“You’ll be fine. I’m gonna soap up the fur on your back now, okay?”
“Okay.” His voice sounded small and quavery in his own ears. The sounds of Tom behind him paused.
“Sonic, are you okay?”
“I’m good,” said Sonic. His hands were starting to hurt from sitting on them, and also maybe from all the explosions. “I’m…” Involuntarily, he made a sound that was horrifyingly close to a sniffle. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, so he nodded.
“Okay.”
After another moment, which felt like a century, Tom started smoothing the soap into Sonic’s fur with his hands. The feeling of it was like sunshine. Sonic’s whole body felt made of light, which was so strange and so nice. While Tom worked, Sonic quietly practiced making small splashes and seeing how far the ripples went.
“Got all the dirt out,” said Tom, “and got your back all soapy. You wanna do the rest yourself?”
Sonic looked up at him, wide-eyed. “My hands hurt.”
Tom’s expression was wry, and he raised his eyebrows at Sonic a bit, but he just said, “Then I’ll do it for you, just this once, OK?”
“Yeah.”
After Sonic’s chest had been soaped too, Tom used a little plastic cup to pour water slowly over the back of his head, his back, his shoulders. “Almost done,” he told Sonic, who felt as though he had been sitting in one place for so long he might never be free again. “I’ve got one more surprise for you once you’re clean.”
“What is it?”
“Which will be in…”
“What is it?”
Tom poured the water in his cup over Sonic’s chest. “3…2…1…”
“What, what, what, what,” said Sonic, at top speed.
“Bath bombs. You ever tried one?”
“Bath—what?”
Tom grinned at him.
“I got you a blue one,” he said, “and then I thought, maybe you don’t like blue, you just are blue—”
“I like blue,” said Sonic.
“--so I got you a red one too, to match your shoes—”
“I like red.”
“--and that one’s sparkly—”
“I love sparkles!”
“So you can have either one, or both if you want.”
“Hang on,” said Sonic. “They’re in colors and they explode? Like fireworks?”
Tom reached out a hand with a red, chalky ball. Sonic examined it suspiciously. “Try it out. C’mon, trust me.”
Sonic took the ball. It felt all right in his hands. It was pretty—it was sparkly—and it didn’t seem explosive. He shook it. Nothing happened.
“See what happens when you put it in the water.”
He lowered it to the water’s surface, and pulled his hand back immediately as the ball started to fizz wildly. It rocketed away from him, colliding with the duck, which turned upside down. “No, Admiral Billsby,” said Sonic, rescuing him. “Oh, wow. Wow, wow.” The glittery red poured out in the ball’s wake, spreading across the surface of the water. “Wow.” Sonic ran his hands through the red billows.
“You want the blue one too?”
“Uh, yeah, I do.”
While Tom hunted for it, Sonic said, “Do you think it’ll be blue and red? Or turn purple? Do you think the blue will get glittery? What am I saying, of course it’ll turn purple and be glittery. And it’ll be so great.” Tom handed him the second bomb. “Hello, sir, may I offer you a ride…to your doom." Sonic held the bomb under the water. “Please,” he said, in the garbled tones of the gentleman bath bomb, “don’t drown me…I have a family…oh wow, that’s purple.”
Tom started to rise from the toilet seat. “I’ll give you a bit to relax with your new friends before we drain the tub.”
“No,” said Sonic immediately, loudly. “I mean—I—I—”
Tom stopped, halfway to his feet, face questioning.
“I…would like it…if you stayed,” said Sonic.
Tom’s expression was unreadable, but gentle.
“Okay,” he said. “I can stay.”
“These”--Sonic gestured to the bombs, fizzing away, and Admiral Billsby–”are great, but…you’re my real friend.”
Tom smiled at him. He reached out a hand and just rested it on top of Sonic’s head for a second.
“You’re my friend too,” he said.