A/N 6/9/15: It's here! It's here! It's here! What! I have been trying to upload it for at least an hour now… And then I switched to Firefox and it worked immediately. WHAT. Stupid technical difficulties. And also if something is -like this-, it's supposed be a strike-through/cross-out, but apparently you can't do that on here...?

When I posted last chapter, I had just started writing this one… And I can't tell you how much it drove me nuts to have people ALREADY asking, "Hurry with Chapter 6!" Gah. Last chapter took me six months to write, and so it's sorta fitting that this chapter took twice as long for its length. I've changed a bit as a person since I started writing this chapter, not to mention this story. If this chapter jumps around a lot, well, I did write it over the course of a crazy school year. So. And a couple of special thanks are in order (I know, I know, sorry).

It's kinda fitting that this chapter is called "And New Friends", because I owe many special thanks first and foremost to my "network" of real life friends that I dragged into reading/betaing/commenting on this chapter and Player Two in general, since FFN was not available to me during this time. Hopefully some of them are reading this chapter now. You know who you are. ;)

Special thanks to the Federal Aviation Administration for their online manual's chapter on painting planes. I hope I got the general facts right, though I may have oversimplified it a bit, as I have never tried to maintain a plane. :)

And finally, thanks to all of you who are reading this chapter now, who've supported me at some point during the last two years, whether you've been following along with ants in your pants since chapter 1, screaming at me to get it done, or if this is the first time you've found this story, or somewhere in between. I can't tell you how much your follows, favorites, reviews, and PMs mean to me. I hope this chapter's been worth the year wait, but if it's not, well… *Hides in a corner*

AND I'm finally posting Chapter 1 of "Cool and Blue" today as well! AHHH! Go check that out too!

Okay, I'm done rambling. Go read while I do something else so I'm not refreshing my gmail every five minutes. XD

-Blurry

Chapter 6: …And New Friends

"We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over." James Boswell

The leaf in his hand was ringed with yellow, almost like a halo, like Susan's hair.

Late afternoon—just waking from the stupor of three o'clock, just before evening's hustle home for dinner. It was Evan's second favorite time of day, when he could walk up and down and feel as though the lane belonged solely to him and his thoughts. His favorite time came later, of course, for evening was when he could share these musings with Susan, but it was here he formed them first.

September, he thought as he tossed the leaf aside into the street. Soon it would be joined by its mates still on the tree, and people would shuffle through the piles faster on their way home. He liked to watch them—sometimes the heads were down, slouched and shuffling, looking at the leaves; others' heads held high, looking straight ahead…

"AH!"

There you go again, Susan would tease him. You're so busy wondering where they're going that you forget to look where you're going…

The world righted itself again: plastic bags split or lay open like a child's piñata, the contents of which lay scattered on the road like the candy. Another, smaller, hooded person had already recovered from the collision, hastily scrambling to find a pair of black sunglasses lying at his feet before beginning to pick up the rest.

"Oh! Let me help you with that…" The chocolate labrador was on his feet again, picking up bolts, wire, chicken, bread, broccoli, and various other items. "I'm very sorry. I should've been more careful."

The stranger laughed. "Hah, same here." A white-gloved hand yanked the hood more firmly over the head—was that a bit of blue? "Guess we're both havin' an off day, huh? Thanks for the help, though." He smiled, and Evan couldn't help but return it.

Once he'd gathered his things, the odd little figure nodded once to Evan and walked briskly away. Under ordinary circumstances, Evan would have done the same, but instead he watched this person walk away and disappear around a corner.

Why does that guy seem familiar?

"Has the bookshelf arrived?"

The rhinoceros didn't even look up to reply. Usually he'd be a little more polite to customers, but Bobby figured his best friend wouldn't mind. "Yep."

"Ah, about time. Susan's been asking about it every day."

"Sounds like her." Bobby scribbled something quickly on a notepad, then looked up and grinned toothily at the labrador. "It's in the back—lemme go get it."

That smile's not the only thing that hasn't changed, Evan thought as he watched the rhinoceros lumber out of the room. Glancing about the small shop, he could almost imagine he was a schoolboy again—coming to Robert Rivers, Sr's Mechanics after school with Bobby, sitting on a stool while Bobby worked on fixing one thing or another. Times had been hard on the family, so "Bobby's Mechanics" had expanded to "package pickup" among other things. Still, little had changed—even the same old posters of cheap oil changes hung on the wall above the cash register.

"Here," Bobby said gruffly but with a smile, hefting a long, cardboard box on his shoulder. "Want some help bringing it home?"

Evan's dark brown ears flopped as he shook his head. "I'll be all right." He paused as he took the box from Bobby. "Actually, I could use a favor…"

"Something the matter?"

"Have you seen Miles lately?"

Bobby considered cracking a joke, but then he saw the familiar glint that always appeared in Evan's eye when he was worried. "Miles? You mean the kid with two tails that Susan's always talking about? That I saw at your place once? Real shy, into machines like nobody's ever seen?"

"That's the one."

Bobby pursed his lips as he turned to his notepad. "…Now that I think about it, no. But it's not like I get outta here much anyhow." He scribbled something on the notepad again, then looked up again, as if just thinking of something. "Hey, maybe I could ask Nick."

"Who?"

"Nick. Nice kid… Err, actually, I dunno how old he is," the rhinoceros admitted. "Comes in every day now. He's a little guy… I think he can't be more'n thirteen, but I can't really tell. He's always dressed up to his neck—hoodie and sunglasses, every day!" He laughed. "Looks like one of Stew's pals, but he's a real nice kid—if you can get him to talk. Mostly he pops in, stares at the parts for a while, buys a couple, takes off, then comes back the next day to return 'em." He cocked an eyebrow as he looked up at Evan. "Once I asked him what it's for, and he told me that it's for his airplane. A kid, owning an airplane!"

Evan stared blankly for a moment before looking back at Bobby. "Does he wear a green hoodie?"

"Yep, that's the one. You seen him?"

"Seen him? I almost ran him over on the way here."

"Really?" Bobby snorted. "Ha! Seems like he'd be the one running you over—that kid's always got somewhere to be. Once he said, 'Gotta speed!' as he was leaving. Sounded like that Sonic guy that was here a few days ago."

Evan nodded. "Well, lots of kids try to imitate him these days… Miles likes him—when he's not talking about machines, he's talking about Sonic. Do you think Nick's a fan too?"

"Maybe. I think his hair's blue..."

Evan thought about how he thought he'd seen some blue in Nick's hair, but while the other kids had streaks here and there, it seemed he had dunked his whole head in the dye…

"He and Miles ought to get together sometime and have a chat. Hey, maybe Miles could fix that plane of his!" Bobby laughed again.

Evan echoed the smile. "Machines and Sonic and a new friend. Yeah, I think Miles would like that."

"I think he'd like that very much."

Evan could smell cooking when he entered the house.

Once he placed his shoes by the door, next to a pair of orange flats, he carried the box into the living room. He set it on the floor and poked his head into the kitchen. "Mmm, smells good in here."

She stood at the far end of the small kitchen, humming lightly. Then she turned and smiled, and her violet eyes sparkled. "Hi, Ev."

Even after ten years, those eyes still made him giddy.

"The bookshelf came today."

"Good, good!" she said, setting the steaming dish on the kitchen table. Evan adored roast beef, his mouth already watering. Upon seeing the rest of the table, however, he suddenly lost his appetite.

The table was set for three.

"I didn't see him…" he began, even though he already knew what she'd say.

Susan stopped. Evan could've sworn the room's temperature dropped a few degrees, and although she didn't look at him, he could feel the worry and disappointment in those eyes.

"I know."

Neither of them looked at the letter lying on the end of the table.

"I asked Bobby to keep a lookout…"

There was a long pause. Instinctively his hands found their way to her shoulders and began to rub in small, slow circles.

"Ev…"

The voice was almost watery.

"What if something happens to him? It's so sudden…"

"I…" He'd expected her to say something, but the words still caught him off-guard. "I think he'll be alright. He's a tough little guy."

"But those kids…"

"I know what they do. But…" He took a deep breath. "But if he couldn't handle himself, why did he bother teaching himself to fly in the first place?"

There was another long pause.

He continued to rub, thumbs working the tensed shoulders. "He's a determined kid, love, and he knows what he wants. If he's not successful, he'll come back." He tried a reassuring smile for her, brushing aside her curls to see her bespectacled face. "After all, when he ran off into the forest that first time, you were worried… And look how that turned out! Some things you just have to do by yourself."

Susan looked back at her husband, studying the blue eyes briefly—not quite the same sky-blue shade as the young fox's. Then she looked down, looking to the torn-out notebook page with the child's scrawl on it.

"Okay."

What have I gotten myself into?

Sonic placed the two hoodies back on the rack with a sigh and picked up yet another one, a black one with red stripes on it. It looked nice, but he put it back. Too conspicuous like everything else he'd been doing.

I try to go on vacation. Unlike normal people, I don't stop to put extra fuel in the tanks, figuring nothing's going to happen, and of course I crash my plane. And also unlike normal people, who'll just take it into a shop right away—

"Can I help you, sir?"

He turned, and the seamstress and store owner, a leopard named Ramona, was looking at him curiously. And no wonder—he'd picked up and put back five different hoodies during the same span of five minutes.

He mentally smacked himself in the forehead. "No, thank you. I'm fine." He tried to smile convincingly—something he had practiced a lot lately.

—I can't afford a stinkin' mechanic so I do this whole convoluted thing, dressing up, trying to fix the busted thing myself, taking Dad's name, and taking all this time, because I really, really don't wanna pull the hero card.

Of course he appreciated the gestures—it was a very nice alternative to being shunned. But they kept going on about it, like he'd actually gotten rid of Robotnik—which he hadn't. Somewhere out there, that madman was plotting, and it would only be a matter of time until he returned. After all, everyone but the conspiracy theorists thought he was dead after Christmas Island, and look who came back ten years later. A shiver rippled down his spine as he thought about it.

…And someone finds me anyway.

For likely the hundredth time since he'd found it tucked in the Tornado's windscreen three days ago, he surreptitiously pulled from his pocket a now-rumpled piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of a notebook. On it, three little words were scrawled:

Thank you, Sonic.

It was one thing getting all those thank-yous when he'd visited the town as himself—he'd kinda gotten used to those by now. "Oh, thank you, you're the best, OMGSONICI'MYOURBIGGESTFANLIKEEVER". But it was another to be… Well, confronted wasn't the right word, because there was nobody there for him to meet. But the former was up front and bold, while the latter… It was hard to describe. Astonishing? Spooky?

He'd opened the Tornado's engine... To find much of it fixed. And not "fixed" like he'd done, but fixed, like the professional job one would see in a museum plane.

But besides returning the past two days to fix a little more, the miracle worker had simply vanished.

His voice hadn't been that high since he was a little kid.

"MamaMamaMamaMamaMamaMama—"

The mocha-brown hedgehog turned, mixing bowl in hand, and chuckled as she saw the blue three-year-old galloping and skidding into the kitchen. "Yes, Sonic?"

The child climbed onto his favorite red step-stool, but even then she could only see his fingers and the tops of his eyes. "Daddy said you're makin' cookies."

"Yes, sir, that I am," she said smoothly, seeing his intentions.

"Who're they for?"

"Well, some are for you, me, and Daddy. The rest are for Santa and his elves."

He looked surprised, his green-black eyes growing wider. "Why?"

"To say thank you for all the presents."

A look of confusion took over his little face. "Can't I stay up and wait so I c'n tell him myself? Won't he like it better that way?"

She paused, considering his logic for a moment. "No, kiddo. You have to go to sleep or else you won't be able to wake up tomorrow—you know how grouchy you get. Santa understands that, so that's why he's happy with the cookies." She pursed her lips, then her face lit up as she thought of something. "You know what? Why don't you write him a letter to say thank you? I'll help you and put it with the cookies. I'm sure he'll be very happy with that."

A giant smile split over his face. "Okay!" He scrambled off the stool and dashed back up the stairs to his room to get a pencil and paper for said letter, and his mother chuckled as she turned back to her cookies.

That night he'd sneaked down from his room to find that "Santa" was actually his father, setting out the presents, and it was his father who had taken the letter. At the time, he'd been heartbroken to find they had lied—but at the same time, he was happy to know that it was someone he knew rather than a stranger who looked like the scary Robotnik his father worked with, even if Santa was supposedly friendlier than the Doctor.

"Funny thing is," he murmured, "I'm the one dressing up, but someone else is playing Santa's elf…"

His eyes flew wide open as he realized what he'd just said. "Hmm, that's not a bad idea, actually…"

That guy really liked the swings.

Jasmine saw him there every day now—sometimes as she came home from kindergarten, or like now, when she was waiting for her big brother Dexter to get out of soccer practice—and with a tiny spike of jealousy, wondered why this boy wasn't in school. He didn't look that old. Maybe as old as Dexter, but he was in seventh grade, and this guy wasn't even that big. Maybe he was a small animal though, like a rodent…

He wore the same thing every day, too—that green hoodie and gray sweatpants and sunglasses that made her think of those high school bullies that stole everybody's lunch money and really liked beating on that funny kid with the two tails. Like that rat guy, Stew. Dexter told her to stay away from guys like that.

But today he was sitting on her swing.

"Hey!"

Dirty-white sneakers scraped the well-worn path as he screeched the swing to a halt, barely missing the little white cat who had parked herself right in front of the swing. If he could seem shocked with those sunglasses, he did.

"Somethin' the matter, kiddo?"

All right, so he seemed like a nice guy—warm tone quite like her brother's.

But not even Dexter got to sit on her swing when she wanted it.

"Yeah, there is," she said, matter-of-factly, placing a hand on her hip the way her mother did when she was upset. "You're sitting on my swing."

"Oh," he said simply. "Sorry." So saying, he began to get up from the seat—

"Waitwaitwait." She pushed him back onto the red swing again and grabbed the chains so he couldn't get up. "Why did you wanna use my swing today?"

The guy shrugged. "I dunno. Needed to think, s'all. I kinda just picked one."

"Dexter, wanna play?"

"Not now. I need a little space to think, okay, Jas?"

"Oh." She blinked. "Well, you can use it, then. I like to use it to think, too." Or rather, she pretended to, so she could be like Dexter. This guy must be okay if he liked thinking. "But only today, okay?"

"Sure thing." He smiled at her. "Thanks."

"No problem!" she said, echoing one of Dexter's favorite phrases. He'd learned it from a certain Sonic the Hedgehog, or so he'd said, a guy he'd claimed was the coolest. Sonic had come through a few days ago, and Dexter had come home with some small bruises, a signed hat, and the biggest grin she'd ever seen on his face…

Said brother was coming off the field now, and he was waving at her, calling her name. "Coming!" she chirped. Addressing the boy on the swings, she called another of Dexter's favorites, "Gotta speed, keed!" She then skipped off, waving at him.

He waved back, and she wondered why he was laughing.

PHH: September 16th. Day five.

I didn't write yesterday because I couldn't use the parts Sonic bought, so I spent more time scrounging around for food instead. Skirted around town a little—almost ran into Stew and Susan, on separate occasions—but still not much to eat. Last night I saw Sonic bought a couple of things that might come in handy, though, so I hope to clean up and start something else…

Once he had ascertained Sonic had definitely left—he'd nearly run into Sonic once the other day—he slid down his tree and walked to the biplane's tools compartment, passing by the food compartment. His stomach growled indignantly. "Oh, be quiet," he murmured as he pushed the button to release the catch.

Now he tried not to be around when Sonic ate. Sometimes Sonic returned with a rolled up omelet, or a sandwich. On one colder night, to Miles's great surprise, Sonic actually hauled out a small pot, constructed a tripod, and ate chili! He was surprised Sonic hadn't heard his stomach growling. It had been too much for him yesterday—he'd taken the leftover quarter of Sonic's ham sandwich. As his stomach would have it, he was still hungry, but now—he stole from Sonic!—it weighed heavily on his conscience.

He sighed as he took the toolbox, step stool and machine parts out of the compartment. "Okay, let's see what we've got here…" He crouched and untied the knot at the top of the plastic bags. Inside, there were a few new parts… As well as a package six inches long by six inches wide, wrapped up with brown paper, and a small canteen.

Miles's eyes widened. "What's this—?" He picked up the package—it was soft enough to make dents into it with his fingers. Carefully, he peeled open the wrapping.

It was a ham sandwich just like the one he'd taken, except this one had more filling, and it was fresh, like it had come from town this morning.

"Huh?"

He spotted a folded-up piece of notebook paper lying on top of the machine parts—it must have fallen out when he opened the wrapping. He peered at it curiously for a moment before he picked it up and placed the sandwich on top of the machine parts. He unfolded it, and inside, very rushed handwriting filled with cross-outs and scribbles greeted him:

Dear -Way Past Cool- -Amazing- Ace Mechanic,

How do I even begin? I really don't know what to say to… this.

I guess I should start with "thanks", but something tells me that's not enough. Lots of people come up to me and say "thanks Sonic for being a hero" and all that, but this… It just blows me away. Did I do something to earn this? And don't say, "Because you saved the world, duh", because that's what everyone says, and let me just say, "No, I saved South Island. Sure, the United Federation is there, and I guess I prevented further catastrophe by stopping Robotnik beforehand, but it's not even close to 'the world'." Heh.

But seriously, I don't think you have any idea how much this means to me. I can't thank you enough. Can we meet up sometime so I can say thanks properly?

Sincerely yours,

Sonic the Hedgehog

P.S. Let me know what parts you need, since we both know I'm terrible at picking them out on my own.

P.P.S. I thought you might like a bigger, not half-eaten sandwich. There's water in the canteen. Let me know if there's any other way I can help.

Miles stared at the words, reading them over and over—and yet, they still didn't make any more sense than they had the first time.

I can't thank you enough.

He imagined Sonic saying these words aloud to him—Sonic probably didn't know it was him, but he allowed himself the happy fantasy, because it would be nothing more than that…

But he wanted to tell Sonic so badly, and now that Sonic was thanking him with gifts... Sonic had even said in the letter he wanted to meet in person, so keeping quiet now seemed almost inconsiderate...

He frowned slightly, looking at the Tornado.

"What should I do?"

Wait, did I just talk to Sonic's biplane?!

The biplane sat on the sand, but the light on the paint winked just a little bit.

Miles blinked as an idea registered in his mind. "Oh!"

The paint winking had reminded him of how scraped up the plane really was—and how much care Sonic had taken prior to this to make sure the paint was nice. So there he would compromise—he would keep quiet aside from asking for parts each day. On the last day, he could ask for some paint, and once he was done painting, he would wait next to the plane and surprise Sonic!

According to Evan, Bobby kept a small section in the back of the shop for paint cans that the users had returned because they didn't quite finish them. He would then sell them for a cheaper price or even give them away if the cause was good…

"I won't even have to ask Sonic for the paint." A smile spread across his face. "I like the way you think," he added to the biplane as he picked up the sandwich and bit into it.

Never before had a ham sandwich tasted so good.

"What's with you and that guy?"

The gray-furred gang leader did not change his position—hunched over on the wall, arms crossed, staring fiercely across the street at the playground—but Karlos could see Stew's ears twitching, and that was enough to know he was listening.

"What guy?"

"'What guy,' he says," the white gull watching them squawked. "Like there's another one. His twin, maybe. Hah!"

Now the fierce orange gaze turned. "Shut your trap, Ace, unless you're gonna tell me what you two're yappin' about."

Although at one time the gruff voice would have frightened him, Karlos merely rolled his eyes. "What do I hafta say, 'the guy you've been staring at the whole afternoon'? Come on, man, spill it." He lazily flicked his battered red yo-yo in the direction Stew had been looking. Stew's gaze, in turn, flicked back to said "guy"—the one swinging very high on one of the faded red swings.

Stew wrinkled his nose. "He gives me the creeps."

Karlos and Ace glanced at each other, then Karlos cocked his eyebrow at Stew. "What for? Looks pretty harmless to me."

"Yeah, well, if he was harmless, then why does he keep looking at me?" the rat growled. "Most every time we're in the same place, he's looking at me."

"Thought you liked the attention." Ace glanced at his feathers casually, eliciting a yip of dismay from the ferret when he snatched the yo-yo from him mid-trick.

"NO!" Stew snapped, whirling about to face his two surprised lackeys. "It's not like that." When the ferret and gull didn't move, he huffed. "Kids around here, they know I'm the boss. I give 'em so much as a look and they look down at their feet, like they're s'posed to. But him—" He gestured violently with his pointer finger at the guy, who was slowly descending from his flight—"He doesn't. He stares back, for at least a second."

Having recovered from the shock of Stew's outburst, Karlos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, Stew. Maybe he knows what happened to Speed Limit, too."

At the sardonic mention of the fox, Stew glared at the ferret. "Cut it out. I ain't kidding."

"He was trying to fly," Ace added, ruffling his own white feathers. "Nutty kid."

"Yeah, but that was for, what, two weeks?" Karlos retorted. "And he still came back." He settled comfortably against the wall again. "It hasn't been that long yet. He's bound to come back sometime. I think you're just stressing 'cuz Jack's closed today."

"Hmph," Stew acknowledged, still staring across the street.

Still, that guy… Where've I seen him before?

Ding, ding, ding, with the ring, ring, ring

I'm the Sonic Electronic and I'm gonna be the king

To the ring, ring, ring, take a ding, ding, ding

When you really score me high, set me free and we will fly

La la la, la-la la la la, la-la la la la-la-la la la-la-la-la-la…

All right, so it wasn't the most original of bridges, but he had run out of ideas at that point. (And, well, it was kind of fun singing "lalalalala".)

Sonic rocked gently in his swing, a bag of machine parts and another of groceries sitting on the ground beside the support posts. The "Ace Mechanic", as he decided to call them in his head, had taken the machine parts and fixed yet another portion of the engine. They also had left a piece of the same notebook-paper from before, but unfortunately, the only thing it contained was the parts they wanted and a simple "thank you for the sandwich".

"Eh, maybe it'll take a while… It took Miles a while… "

Instinctually, he looked up and down the immediate vicinity, but as always, there was no twin-tailed fox to be found.

He frowned—what had happened to that kid, anyway? He had disappeared the day after they had met. Apparently he wasn't the only one thinking of him either—Bobby had asked him the other day. "Susan's been looking for him," Bobby had said. So he had been right about Miles and the librarian being friends… But even she didn't know where he was. It made him a little bit sad. Could something possibly have happened…?

He quickly shook his head. "Nah. He's probably just hanging out someplace… Hopefully away from those creeps…"

He'd seen them around—a rat, a ferret, and a seagull skulking around the town. Although they were bigger than him physically, he figured they were around his age. And though the boys themselves were not familiar faces, he knew their behavior well—wherever they went, whether an alley, the school, or Jack's chili dog stand, kids scuttled out of their way, deliberately looked away, or watched with petrified awe. The rat appeared to be the leader, giving orders and taunting as the other two jeered.

Oh, he knew that well.

He kept an eye on them—for now, they appeared to be trying to decide which kid to pick on. Since he had started watching them, they hadn't laid a finger on the kids... Yet, he had a feeling they were... holding back? Like they were waiting for something...

"People don't like me..."

He cringed inwardly as he remembered the scruffy, patchy fur, the numerous scrapes covering Miles's body... Oh! Why had he given him a chili dog, of all things? Surely they had played that game with him, let's-pretend-to-offer-it-but-snatch-it-away-at-the-last-second?

"I just hope I can find him again before they do..."

"Hey, kid!"

He jerked to attention again, finding the piercing orange eyes of the rat fixated on him.

"Yeah, you, kid with the blue streak and green hood. I'm talking to you!"

Ah, man. Maybe I oughta look into some hair dye... He yanked the hood a little farther over his forehead self-consciously before he looked around. Quite a few kids were watching now. He puffed his cheeks out and blew out in exasperation.

Well, this looks familiar, eh, Sonic?

Now he put a half-smile on and met the rat's gaze fully. "Something the matter?"

The rat seemed slightly surprised at the genial greeting, but he quickly disguised it with a growl. "I should be asking you that."

"How's that?" The smile faded into a mildly polite expression.

He advanced towards Sonic, the seagull and ferret not far behind. "Don't pretend you don't know, kid. I've seen you. Every day, I see you around town, wearing that like you wanna be cool." He gestured towards Sonic's borrowed garb with his head. "And you keep looking at me. What's up with that, huh?"

Keeping an eye on you—

"Ah, nothing," he said vaguely.

"Really now?" The sarcasm was practically dripping from the rat's lips. "Ya sure about that?"

Sonic met his gaze, but he imperceptibly clenched his fists tighter around the swing chains. "Sure, I'm sure."

The rat made a move as if to grab the hedgehog, but he apparently decided against it. "Better be nothing," he said darkly as he stalked away.

The ferret, seagull, and many kids seemed confused at the lack of conflict. Finally, the ferret looked at the seagull and gestured at him for them to leave as well. He turned, scowling at Sonic. "Better watch yourself, kid. You've got Stew's attention." Both glared at him before hurrying after their rankled leader.

What kinda stew? Rat stew? Ugh, I prefer chili dogs myself...

Sonic clamped his hands over his mouth when he saw kids looking at the strange hooded kid snickering to himself.

PHH Day 8: September 20th.

Almost done.

Technically speaking, Miles had been "almost done" fixing the Tornado for about three days now, but he had wanted to add a few additions before the painting. Technically, the engine was finished and Sonic could have even flown off a day before that.

But there was something about seeing Sonic sitting cross-legged before the fire, the smell of chili floating up to greet Sonic's shadow flickering across the biplane's battered body, and Sonic's gentle humming and soft scribbling… If only Sonic wasn't famous, and he wouldn't have to leave!

But then, that was the whole point, Miles supposed, and he was determined to cling to him as long as he could.

His fist tightened more firmly over the paper inside.

Dear Ace Mechanic…

He had come to cherish that nickname, because it gave him a connection to Sonic that no one else (or so he liked to imagine) had—like he was more than a little kid who had followed him around, like they were friends.

Done already?

He'd written to Sonic today with one word: FINISHED. If he had been waiting for someone else to fix something for him, he would've wanted to know when it was done...

But now he was starting to regret it.

Wow, it really looks brand new in there! Do you have a shop somewhere? If you don't, you should.

The hedgehog had stared at Miles's note for a moment before opening the engine cover to confirm it. And Sonic grinned, but Miles also noticed that there was a slight frown on his face afterwards…

Anyway, I'll probably be heading out the day after tomorrow…

"Hhhhhnnnn."

Upon hearing the sound, Miles looked up to see Sonic scribbling furiously in his notebook again.

Got a couple of things to get before I go…

Sonic suddenly stopped and gave the paper a long, hard look, as if somehow it had offended him. Then, with a satisfying SHHHHTT sound, it came away from the spirals, and he crumpled it into the smallest ball possible and threw it into the fire.

I don't want to try my luck crashing the plane again—I was really lucky this time between you and a little fox kid named Miles.

They watched it for a few minutes as it expanded slightly and began to turn black and curl up at the edges. Once it was little more than a blackened pile of ashes on the rest of the fire, Sonic huffed once, then turned back to his notebook, scribbling away once more, as if nothing had happened.

Do you happen to know him?

"Of course—I'm Miles," he wanted to say, but he just tucked his two tails around himself, still watching Sonic.

Ah, never mind. I haven't seen him for a while, so I don't think I'll get to say good-bye. But maybe I can catch you tomorrow, heh…

He would get to meet him on the last day… But even if he could extend it by a day or two for the paint, once they had met properly, it wouldn't be long before Sonic would leave…

If I don't, I'd just like to reiterate…

He'd still have Susan; he'd still have Evan, Bobby, and the library…

I can't tell you thanks enough for what you've done for this blue hedgehog.

But it wouldn't be the same.

Take care,

Sonic

Even as he closed his eyes to stop the blurring, he could still hear Sonic humming.

The circumstances were hardly the same, but Miles couldn't help but feel like he was a secret agent in those movies they'd played at the orphanage for the older kids.

There was the playground—some kids were playing on it, as they always did before the bell rang for school. Stew, Karlos, and Ace were roaming among them, nearly empty backpacks slung over their backs. Bobby's shop was down the street.

"Thought you said he'd be back soon, Karlos," came the drawling voice.

Oh, boy...

"Hey, don't blame me," the ferret's reedy voice followed, as did their footsteps. "I ain't a fortune teller."

Miles darted to the nearest trash can, taking care to pull his tails in tightly around himself. He stilled his breathing. Don't come here, don't come here...

"Yeah, well, I'm sure he's around," Ace squawked. His footsteps came even closer to Miles's trash can.

Miles dove into the bush close by the trash can. Karlos and Ace didn't appear to have noticed him, but he had a feeling Stew, with those razor-sharp orange eyes, had seen something.

"Hey, Karlos..."

Miles wiggled further into the bush, wincing as the branches scraped his arms and face, but he dared not cry out.

"Didja see that?"

"See what, Cap'n?"

"That. I coulda sworn I saw a little bit of that brat..."

The footsteps came ever closer, and Miles held his breath and, emaciated as he was, he wished he was even smaller.

Brrrrriiiiiiinnnnggggg!

There was the thundering of footsteps racing towards the school building. Two pairs of footsteps came closer. "Come on, man."

"But—"

"We can check it out later," Karlos reassured Stew. "If we cut again, they'll keep us 'til next week. Come on."

Reluctantly, the footsteps turned away and rushed off towards the school. Miles waited for what seemed an eternity until the playground was silent before he inched his way out of the bush and bolted for Bobby's store, twin tails twirling as if it would save his life.

The store's bell tinkled, and the rhinoceros behind the counter raised his head to greet his customer. "Hey Ev, you're early—" But he cut himself off upon seeing a tiny two-tailed fox with his back stuck to the glass door, leaves and twigs sticking haphazardly out of his scruffy fur, breathing as if he'd just run a marathon.

"Miles?"

The child's frightened eyes focused on the rhinoceros, and a tiny smile replaced the terror. "H-hi, Bobby."

Bobby frowned, looking him up and down as he came from behind the counter. Miles shrank into himself, the smile faltering as the rhinoceros towered over him. "I—" He grasped the bar on the door behind him, swallowing nervously.

"Where've you been, kid? Susan and Evan have been looking for you!"

"Huh?" Miles said blankly, momentarily taken aback by the kind tone. "They—oh. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked away. "I—I can't come back yet."

"What?" Bobby was still smiling slightly, but Miles had the feeling that Bobby would be as stubborn as Evan himself. "Where do you have to be that's so important?"

"I… I found a plane," he blurted. "I came to get some paint for it."

"You—what?" Bobby repeated, dumbfounded.

Miles took a deep breath. "I found someone who needed help with his plane, so I offered to fix it for him, and I came to get some paint for it," he explained.

Bobby smiled again. "Ah. So you need paint for a 'secret' project?"

Miles's ears flattened against his head—that smile was one of those indulging smiles that Susan sometimes gave when she didn't believe him, like she had when he first told her he had taught himself to fly with his own two tails. "Uh, yeah."

"Ah, okay. Well, come on back, then." Bobby gestured with a large, rough hand, and disappeared behind the faded woven blanket that hung over the doorway behind the counter. After hesitating for a moment—he'd never actually been back there before—Miles meekly followed him.

Bobby flicked a light switch on the side wall. Miles blinked, and as his eyes adjusted to the now-bright room, he took in the rather enormous storage area. All kinds of objects were stacked up against the walls—tools, machine parts, boxes of all shapes and sizes, and of course, in the far left corner, towers of paint cans. "Wow," he breathed, looking about. If I had money and a place to put things…

Bobby lumbered over to a set of smaller stacks—the paint cans that had been returned. "Want paint for a plane, did you say?" Bobby said, looking over the stacks. "Need a particular color?"

"Red."

Bobby turned to look at him, eyebrow cocked, at which point Miles realized the entire first stack directly behind Bobby was made up of various shades of red.

"Er, I mean… bright red? Well… You know the Tornado Highwind?"

"Indeed I do." Bobby smiled. "That's an old biplane. Does your, uh, client like that color?"

Well, yeah, he's got the real thing. "Yeah."

"Okay, let me see here…" Bobby considered the stack in front of him. "Ah, here we are—'Grenadine'." He took a few of the top cans off of the stack, set them down beside him, and opened up the new top can. "Hmm. Not quite enough here…" He replaced the lid, handed the bucket to Miles, and picked up the one underneath it. "Mm-hm. Between those two, that should do a few coats. Any other colors?"

Miles was about to shake his head, but he stopped as an idea entered his mind. "Um, some white… yellow… and blue," he added. "But just enough for a little decoration."

Bobby shuffled along the stacks and removed the requested cans. After placing those next to Miles, he left again and returned with sponges, buckets, finishing materials, gloves, blue coveralls, goggles, and a breathing mask. After considering a moment, he pulled a pair of scissors out of his work apron and cut a larger tail hole in the back of the coveralls. "Know how to use a paint gun, Miles? Does your client have one?"

When Miles shook his head, Bobby continued, "That's okay. It's a little harder and takes longer with brushes—" He went over to a large barrel of brushes and brought several large ones back. "—But if you're careful, you'll be all right." He grinned. "Here, I'll mix the paint for ya."

Miles followed Bobby back into the main shop and watched as Bobby swiftly prepared the paint. "Be careful you don't breathe it in too much, now," he warned, replacing the lids on the cans. "Wear all that stuff I'm giving ya, hear? The paint's not good for your fur or skin. Why don't you put it on now—lemme see how it fits."

"Okay…" Miles pulled on the coveralls—with a little difficulty as he pulled his tails through—the gloves, breathing mask, and goggles. Everything was large for him, but once Bobby had helped him to roll up the sleeves and adjusted all the straps, he reminded Bobby of himself when he was very young, eagerly helping his father in the shop.

Bobby placed his hands on his hips and smiled. "Alright, there you are, Mr. Mechanic. Anything else?"

Miles pulled the breathing mask down as he looked at his supplies and new outfit and then back at Bobby. "Don't think so." A wide grin broke across his features for the first time since entering the shop. "Thank you very much, sir."

"No problem, kid. Lemme know how the paint job goes, 'kay?"

"Will do." Miles lifted his buckets with slight difficulty and turned to leave. "Thanks again." He carefully maneuvered around the aisles and left the store, humming a strange little tune as he left.

Bobby watched the little fox sway slightly with the weight of the paint cans. "What a strange kid," he murmured absently. "Should ask Susan more about him…"

The robot crumpled under his feet with a crrrrrunch, barely a yard away from the human, lion, and mouse news team.

He coughed once, blinked, then looked up to find they were staring at him, the lion with his enormous camera trained on him.

"Aren't you gonna do something?"

The human female was the first to recover, turning away to face the camera. "Did you see that, John? This blue hedgehog just saved our lives!" She then turned to the bemused blue hedgehog, holding out the microphone to him. "Excuse me, sir, are you the same blue hedgehog from Station Square?"

"Uh, yeah? How many blue hedgehogs are there?"

"Ooh, sassy, aren't we?" She grinned with her bright red lips. "Are you getting this, Scarlet? We caught your hedgehog hero!"

More like I saved you from nearly getting your heads taken off…

"Everyone's dying to know… Just who are you, anyway?"

He blinked, considering for a few moments, but before he could open his mouth…

"Sonic…"

He turned his head, and peeking around a corner was a little fox with two tails…

"Miles?"

Miles gave a tiny, shy grin. "Thank you," he whispered and went back around the corner.

"Wait! Miles! Where are you going?"

In two bounds he was following the fox into a forest. Heart racing, feet flying—he must have broken the sound barrier, but somehow the little fox always managed to keep ahead of him by a yard, too far away to catch, but close enough to hear what he was calling out as he ran…

Thank you, Sonic.

Thank you, Sonic.

Twee-ooh, chee-chee-oo.

Chee-oo-cheecheechee.

"Twee-twee-chee."

"Chee-chee-ooh—"

And the poor Flicky stopped there, startled to find the blue thing under the blanket suddenly sitting upright, glaring at her with bleary slits.

"Shhh."

With a last twit-ee, the Flicky hopped off the Tornado's windscreen and flapped her tiny wings to join her chittering friends nearby. Sonic lay back down, rubbed his eyes with the backs of his bare hands, and groaned.

The sun was up by now—8:35, according to the clock—but Sonic continued to lie there for a few minutes, eyes closed. He thought about going back to sleep—the faint Emerald Hill music and the waves were calming—but after a moment, he decided it wouldn't make much difference anyway.

He'd just wake up again in another hour or so with a jolt, just as he had every night for the past three nights.

Every night, he was certain he could hear something rustling around in the dark… Animals, surely, he tried to reassure himself. He'd had the nightmares every so often since last year—the badniks returned, Robotnik and the Final Zone, the Chaos Emeralds, Labyrinth Zone, all mixed in with old memories of water, of his parents, of fighting in the streets. Some were simply memories while others were malignant distortions… But for the past three nights, they had come in quick succession. Like three nights ago, Bobby was flying the Tornado when he was shot down by a Buzz Bomber—Sonic woke up sweating, certain he had heard buzzing. Or two nights ago, he thought he heard Crabmeat rustling around and dreamed about one large enough to chop off Miles's twin tails. And he could've sworn he heard something like speech, saying his name once or twice…

"Maybe I should see a therapist," he sighed as he fumbled to put on his hoodie. "They'd never be bored…"

Once he'd set his things in order, he climbed out, closed and locked up the Tornado's compartments and cockpit for the first time since the Ace Mechanic had come, and walked towards town.

He closed his eyes as he let his feet guide him around the knotted roots of the trees and allowed the atmosphere to envelop him. A small smile formed on his face.

It had been a while since he'd walked through a forest like this.

It was a funny thing, running. As a kid, they'd told him to stop, and he'd walk so they wouldn't poke fun… But ever since Robotnik, they expected him to run, run, run. He loved it, he really did. It was the best thing in the world, and he did it whenever he could… But people acted like he didn't know what walking was, that he was just a running machine that wasn't capable of slowing down and talking to people sometimes.

In that sense, I guess things didn't change that much…

He sighed as he pushed his hands into the large front pocket of his hoodie.

...Crrunch.

Instantly the adrenaline shot up to his head and he jumped into a fighting stance—his hood fell off as his spines rose, leaving his ears to swivel about on high alert. His eyes grew wider as he glanced around to see—

A feral squirrel standing on a branch above him.

"Great, now I'm hearing things in real life too," he mumbled. His head throbbed slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a slow, steadying breath. "'Kay, Sonic, you're not gonna flip out and jump 'im… Remember the last time you thought it was a badnik…"

A fleeting memory of a load of toy racecars, a few terrified children, and an angry store manager came to mind, and he pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Yeah, maybe it's not a good idea to jump into fights half-asleep…" He looked in the direction he thought the sound had come from and frowned as he jerked his hood back on his head.

He then turned and continued walking a little faster towards town.

It took all of Miles's willpower not to collapse upon reaching the Tornado.

"That was… too… close," he wheezed as he set the paint cans on the ground, and he stood there for a while, hands on his knees, panting. "Stupid… brush…"

Just his luck—in his panic of hearing Sonic walking through the forest, he'd dropped one of his brushes on the ground. He'd bent gingerly to pick it up, but in doing so, he'd stepped on some leaves, causing the crunch. He couldn't see Sonic—which hopefully meant Sonic could not see him—but then an eternity seemed to pass before Sonic started walking again in the direction of the town. Then Miles quickly picked up his brush again and raced as fast as his little legs could carry him back.

Once he'd caught his breath, he straightened up, adjusted the goggles on his face, and pulled the breathing mask over his nose. He faced the Tornado squarely, nodding at the biplane.

The biplane glinted, and though nobody could see him, Miles smiled underneath his mask.

"Let's get to work."

"Hey, Karlos, I think somethin's up with Stew."

The leader of the trio grunted as he kicked some rocks on the path in front of them. "I can hear you, y'know."

"Oh. Okay," Ace said blankly, then proceeded to make the same comment in a "whisper" at the same volume.

Stew growled, but then Karlos's reedy voice piped up, "Eh, hate to admit it, but I think Ace's right. What's eatin' you, Stew?"

Ace giggled, but there was no response from the rat.

"...It's that weird kid, isn't it?"

Finally, a terse nod.

"I don't see what's so weird about him," Ace mumbled.

Stew ignored him.

"Really, I don't," Ace continued obliviously. "I mean, he's not bothering anybody. I mean, look at him." He pointed off in the distance. "He's just sitting there—"

Both Stew and Karlos jerked their heads in that direction, and there, sitting under a tree, it was that kid again, with the green hoodie and sunglasses…

Stew immediately veered in that direction and began walking faster. "Hey!"

He could hear Karlos and Ace stop, the former muttering something he couldn't hear before he began to follow Stew… But even as the three of them approached, the kid did not look up or even move… Stew then noticed the limp gloved hands, the way the figure slumped over his bent knees, how his hood was slightly slipping off and his sunglasses had slid down his nose to reveal the closed eyelids…

"Blue eyelids? Must've been one heckuva dye job," Ace commented before Karlos hastily shushed him.

The kid stirred, murmured something that Stew could've sworn was, "S'natural," and went back to sleep.

"Hey, Stew, look at this…" Karlos hissed, bending over the kid's backpack. "He's got a bunch of chili dogs in here!"

"Take 'em," Stew grunted. "Serve him right for that attitude the other day…"

Karlos pulled out a total of ten chili dogs, as well as two empty wrappers, out of the backpack and placed them in Ace's arms. "Hey, Stew, you might wanna check this out…" The ferret stood, leaving the chili dogs with Ace, and pulled Stew a few feet to the side, out of the shade of the tree. He grinned, holding the backpack open at the top.

Inside was a pair of slick red sneakers, each shoe with a white band in the middle fastened with a gold buckle on the sides.

Stew pulled out the shoes and held them up for the three of them to see properly, and other two oohed and ahhed as the polished buckles glittered in the sunlight. "Looks like there's more to our little hooded friend than we'd thought…"

"I heard even half decent ones go for two thousand rings…" Karlos sighed. "But these ones look just like the real thing!"

"Heard they go three hundred miles an hour without burning out…" Ace muttered as he reached out a finger to touch the soles.

Stew lowered the shoes and peered inside. Sewn neatly on the inside with gold lettering was a name:

S. Needlemouse.

"'S. Needlemouse', huh? Wonder who he is…"

"Ah, who cares! He must be a gazillionaire if he's got 'em," Karlos interrupted. "Let's keep 'em and see how much he'll give to get 'em back."

"Y'know, it really doesn't help you, blurting out your plans like that right in front of me."

The trio jumped, and there was the kid, hands on his hips, tapping his foot impatiently. "And if y'all are done playing inspector, I'd really like my stuff back."

The trio looked at each other. "Now, now, not so fast," Stew said, grinning. "A guy's gotta help a guy out… Even the sprinters on tv don't have replicas this good! What're they doing in a kid's backpack?"

"Waiting for you to give 'em back to me," was the nonchalant response.

"Oh har har, very funny." Stew shook the shoes tauntingly at him. "How much do you want these back?"

The next moment was one that the three were sure even the race track high speed cameras couldn't catch.

One moment, the kid was standing in front of them. Then, whoosh—a fierce gust of wind blew through their group—and all three of them were empty-handed.

The kid was standing on the other side of them now, the red shoes on his feet. He was smiling as he shifted his now full backpack properly on his back and adjusted his hood. "Oh, I wanted them back very much. But, well, there are some things in the world money can't buy... Like your faces right now," he added, laughing.

Before the bullies could say "gotta go fast", he had turned heel and dashed towards town and out of sight.

"Kids, don't try that at home."

Even though he was certain he had lost them once he left town, Sonic glanced behind himself a few times and made sure to zigzag between the trees.

He looked down at his red running shoes and smiled. "Replicas, huh? Yeah, sure. Those things can't even reach two-eighty before they start smoking like burned hot dogs. Psh. But seriously, anybody with a brain could put two and two together…" He pulled his backpack off his back, took a squashed chili dog out of it, and peeled the wrapping open. "Blue hair, red shoes, chili dogs… It's not hard to figure it out after that display."

Even his temples agreed that it had been a bad idea... He sighed and rubbed them with the tips of his fingers, eyes closed. "Forget leaving tomorrow. I'd better leave—" He paused. "—after a proper nap. And then I'm outta here."

He walked in comparative silence for the next few minutes. The forest animals darted about and fluttered in the trees, and he tried to absorb the peaceful scene, to forget about the robots…

Clang.

A few of the Flickies scattered, and Sonic's spines stood on end. "Shoot, there I go again." He crumpled his chili dog wrapper and stuffed it in his pocket as he began to walk faster, ears twitching. "I hope I'm wrong twice…"

He could hear blades whirring somewhere not too far in the distance…

And it was coming from the direction of the Tornado.

"That's odd…"

He wrinkled his nose as the sweet forest air turned to something sharp, assaulting his nose like…

Paint?

"'Kay, now I'm curious." The brisk walk broke into a jog now as he followed the sound and smell.

He continued until he reached a few yards from the edge of the forest, crouching behind some bushes as he peered around them to get a glimpse of whatever it was…

The first thing he saw was a large pile of objects a few yards away, covered by a tarp—upon closer inspection, he could see one corner of the tarp peeking up to reveal his food and other supplies. Then, the Tornado itself, glistening like it was wet. Upon looking up, he found that the source of the whirring sound was not the Tornado's propeller, but was hovering like a helicopter over the tail end, with orange "blades" and four other limbs coming out of the blue body.

Looks a lot like a Mobian… Those limbs look a lot like arms and legs. But… it can't be! It doesn't look like a bird or a bug—it's not flapping any wings…

He darted to some bushes closer to the biplane.

Maybe it's a robot? Strange robot if I ever saw one…

At this new angle, he found out both the source of the smell and what the "creature" was doing—in one hand, the creature was holding a bucket of red paint; in the other, it was holding a paint brush…

It was repainting the Tornado, creating even strokes over the old warped paint.

"Almost done…"

Sonic whipped his head around to look before he realized the muffled but definitely not robotic voice had come from the creature painting the biplane.

"Well, at least with this coat." It made a few finishing strokes, then lowered itself until its feet were touching the ground.

Sonic's heart leaped into his mouth.

The "helicopter blades" stopped spinning, revealing two yellow-orange, white-tipped tails each almost as big as the owner.

The owner of the twin tails picked up the paint can cover, replaced it, and placed the entire thing with the several other, smaller buckets of paint on a small tarp nearby. Humming a tune that sounded awfully like "King of the Ring", it stepped away to another small tarp with only a rock resting on it, where it pulled off the face mask and goggles to reveal the two large, bright eyes and smiling white-furred muzzle—

"Miles?"

"AAAAAAHHHH!" was the response as the two-tailed fox leaped a foot into the air and unceremoniously dropped his gear on the ground.

Well, that went well. Sonic grimaced as he stood and approached Miles—slowly, because the poor kid was already hyperventilating and staring at Sonic like he'd just seen a ghost.

"S-Sonic?" Miles took a step back, almost stepping on his goggles. "H-how long have you been there?"

"Well… I should be asking you," the hedgehog said, taking off his hood and sunglasses in a frail attempt to look calm as if he witnessed two-tailed foxes flying all the time. "What're you doing?"

The "Ace Mechanic" shrank into himself, as if Sonic had said something harsh. "I… uh…" He began twisting his the tips of his tails in his hands. "Um. Eh. Uh." He then moved his lips a tiny bit.

In spite of himself, Sonic found a small smile creeping across his face. He casually dug his ear with his pinky. "Sorry, kiddo, I can't read lips that well."

Miles looked down and began twisting his tails harder. "Ah… I… I wanted… I thought… YougavemechilidogsandIthoughtI'dtrytohelpyououttoopleasedon'tbemad."

It took Sonic a moment to process that last bit.

"—Wait, what?"

Miles's muzzle appeared almost pink and he tried to make himself even smaller. "I—"

"No, no, I heard you just fine, I just…" Sonic waved his hands around, trying to encompass the entire situation with them. " I don't even—how? You can—what? Why—?"

Then he stopped and blinked as if in understanding.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

Miles stared at Sonic for a second before timidly shaking his head.

Sonic cocked his eyebrow. "Um, are you sure? I'm pretty sure. I mean, I did just see you flying and I've been having some pretty crazy dreams lately. Like last night. I was saving Central City and somehow you were there and I chased you into the forest but couldn't catch you…"

Miles looked less terrified now than just plain confused.

Sonic huffed and pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "Oh, man, ugggh. Hang on a sec…" To Miles's great surprise, he walked away, behind the Tornado.

Once he was out of Miles's line of sight, he crouched, flattening his ears and squeezing his eyes shut tight for a count of five—

Okay, if this is a dream, this shouldn't hurt—

—then rolled up his sleeve, and pinched himself as hard as he could.

OOooowwwww—

"'Kay, not dreaming," he muttered as he pulled the sleeve back over the sore spot and stood again.

A moment later he returned, slightly more composed, and tried to smile at a very bemused Miles. "Sorry, that was terrible. I've… been having a weird day. Can we start again?"

"O-okay…"

Sonic's strained smile relaxed slightly. "Cool. Hey, speaking of chili dogs…Want one?" He swung his bag off his back and sat crosslegged to unzip it. He held one chili dog out to Miles, and Miles timidly took it and sat. "So… You mind telling me about this whole… you-fixing-my-biplane thing? I'd love to hear that story."

Even as he seemed a little more relaxed in this position, Miles's response was still barely audible—"Umm, it started the day you came… I was… in the crowd of kids, and I saw you—"

"I didn't see you. You'd think I'd notice a kid with two tails," Sonic muttered. "Go on."

"I hoped you'd come back… And you did, and you gave me chili dogs…"

"Uh-huh."

"…And I… I didn't know it was you at first, but I figured it out…"

Toldja the disguise was too obvious…

"So I followed you out here… And you were struggling with your plane, so I thought… Well, I kinda know a little about planes…and I never got to thank you for the chili dogs properly, so… yeah," he finished lamely.

"And you can fly with your tails."

A nod.

Sonic sat in awe for a solid minute, a faraway look in his eyes.

"…That's some story."

Another timid nod.

"And we've established that I'm not dreaming." Sonic laughed. "'Kay. So… why the secrecy, then, with all the notes and stuff? Why didn't you just tell me?"

Miles looked at his orange toes and wiggled them in the sparse grass.

"Why didn't you tell me when you gave me the chili dogs?"

Silence.

"…You're awfully quiet this time."

Miles finished his mouthful of chili dog before speaking. "…Huh?"

"Well, I gave you a chili dog last time, and you happily opened up. Now I give you one and you don't wanna talk. What's different now?"

"I-I'm talking to you."

"Yeah." Sonic raised one eyebrow. "So?"

"I didn't know I was talking to you last time."

"You were talking to a complete stranger then. Now you know who I am. So what're you scared of?" Sonic tilted his head to the side.

"…You're Sonic."

Sonic closed his eyes halfway. "Yeah, we've established that."

Miles's face turned florid again and he squirmed. "Ahhhhh… Just…"

In a moment, "Nick" was back, hood up and sunglasses on. "This help at all?"

Miles moaned and shook his head.

"So what's the matter?"

"I…" Miles curled his tails around himself and spoke into his fur. "You're… Sonic. People… talk about you all the time. You're… cool. And… y-you talked to m-me…"

"So it's suddenly different because I'm a world hero?"

A tiny movement he thought was a nod.

"W-world heroes don't talk to freaks…"

"It's true. 'Cuz you're not a freak. You're no more a freak than I am a world hero."

Miles didn't say anything, but Sonic could almost feel the surprise emanating from the huddled form.

"I mean that." He looked away and leaned back on his palms. "They all freaked out when I saved the world, sayin' I'm somebody special now… But I've always had this speed. I haven't changed. Their view did." He looked back at Miles now. "People give you labels all the time… But who you are inside doesn't change unless you allow it to. Whether I'm Mobius's world hero, or Nick, or the 'freaky blue kid sitting on the street corner'… Maybe I act a little different depending on who's watching, but I'm still the same guy." He finally pulled off his hood and took off his sunglasses.

"I'm still just Sonic."

They sat for a few moments in silence. But slowly, impatient-foot-tappingly so, Miles began to uncurl from his ball, first one tail, then the other, until he was sitting normally. The hedgehog and fox didn't look at each other for a long while.

"…How long does it take that paint to dry, d'you think?"

Miles looked up at the blue hedgehog, who was still looking away, face tilted towards the sun so that his face was almost glowing. "…A few hours, maybe. Why?"

"'Cuz it's fun to watch," was the immediate response, followed by a chuckle. "Nah, Susan, Evan, and Bobby were asking aboutcha, so I thought while we're waitin' for it to dry, we could pop into town and let 'em know where you've been." He stood, holding a gloved hand out for Miles, smiling genuinely. "How 'bout it?"

For the first time since Sonic had arrived, Miles returned the smile.

She hadn't said a word since she'd returned home.

At length, Evan looked up from his book to find Susan busying herself in putting dinner in the oven.

"Su?"

She didn't say anything, but he knew she was listening.

"…What do you say I go out tomorrow to look for him?"

Now she turned to look at him. "…You'd do that?"

"I'd do anything for you, love," he said with a smile. "Where should I start?"

Again, her eyes flitted to the note on the table. "Well, maybe the streets first, and then the surrounding area…"

Ding-dong.

"Did you order something?"

"No. Did you invite Bobby over?"

"No." Evan set his book down and disappeared into the front hall, where Susan could hear the door unlocking and a shocked gasp.

"Susan?"

She almost dropped her knives in her hurry to the door.

There, with a little red paint decorating his scruffy orange and white fur, he stood shyly on her porch, twisting one tail tip in his hands. "Hi, Library Lady—"

He couldn't finish, as with a cry of delight, Susan had cut off his air supply.

"I know he likes Sonic, dear, but I don't think he wants to be blue…"

Susan's face flushed red as she placed the gasping fox child back onto his feet. "Oh, dear… I'm so sorry, Miles…" She smiled sheepishly, clasping her gloved hands together.

"Heh, yeah," Miles panted, doubled over as he caught his breath. "Just thought I'd… drop in… to tell you… I'm okay. But Susan—"

Said poodle however, was not listening to him—she was already back in the kitchen, furiously chopping broccoli. "Why didn't you stop by the library to tell me you were coming? I don't have anything ready!"

"Ah, well, I was busy paint—"

"Where have you been? I was worried about you!"

"Did you—"

"See the note? Yes. But you could have been a tad more specific than 'I'm going somewhere for a little while'!" She stopped suddenly to look at him. "Why are you covered in paint? What have you been doing?"

A vexed little fox huffed, ears flattened against his head. "If you'd let me finish a single sentence!" he cried, flinging his arms out. "I've been trying to tell you... I've been in the forest, and I found someone you need to meet!"

"Who?"

"Umm, well, you'll see when he comes in..." Miles suddenly looked uncomfortable again. "He's waiting outside. I hope he hasn't left…" he added as an afterthought. "Just a minute."

Curious, she followed him out to the front hall. Miles crossed the street to a small hooded figure she hadn't noticed before leaning casually against the building side. The figure appeared to protest, but Miles took the figure by the arm—"Don't worry, they won't tell, I promise!"— and dragged him back to the house.

"You gotta close the blinds... He's kinda shy," he explained with an exasperated smile.

Evan obliged, closing all of the blinds and turning on the lights in the living room and kitchen. "All right, what's the deal? We've met Nick."

Once they were all gathered in the living room, Miles released the hooded person. "No, you haven't."

Susan and Evan exchanged a glance.

Miles smiled at his guest, who groaned and reached up to his hood. Before pulling it down, he hesitated. He then spoke in that strangely familiar voice—"I s'pose there's no way out of this, is there?"

Miles shook his head. "They won't tell," he repeated reassuringly.

"Hm," he consented, and he yanked down the hood, fully exposing the cobalt blue quills beneath. Then he took off the sunglasses, and he looked up at the small group assembled with startlingly vivid emerald green eyes.

Upon seeing Susan and Evan's stunned faces, Sonic the Hedgehog cracked a small, almost timid smile.

"Hi."

A/N: So how was that for the second meeting (the "real" one?)? Good? Worse than the first one? Better? Let me know! Oh, but please don't beg me for chapter seven, ESPECIALLY if you sped through all that. Give it a week, please. XD (Or just say, "I'm looking forward to chapter 7" instead of "WHERE'S CHAPTER SEVEN I NEED IT NOW".) Thanks. XD