Amy Rose blinked, her grip on the dented toaster tightening slightly as she took in the scene—the holographic DNA strands still flickering between us, Tails' scattered notes covered in frantic scribbles, Sonic standing stiffly like he'd just been told his favorite shoes were discontinued. The grocery bag in her other hand crinkled loudly in the sudden silence. "Uh," she said, very carefully, "did I miss a memo?"
Tails' ears drooped slightly as he snatched his notes off the table, scattering pencil shavings across the floor. Sonic rubbed the back of his neck, his other hand gesturing vaguely in my direction—a motion that somehow managed to convey both "long story" and "please don't ask."
"Hello there," I began as I extended my hand in friendship, "I'm Nox, Nox the Hedgehog, and you must be Amy Rose." My voice sounded smoother than I'd intended—not quite charming, but at least not actively threatening—though the way Amy's eyes flicked to my claws suggested she was still weighing whether I belonged in the "friend" or "potential stabber" category.
With how I looked now, it was fair enough honestly.
Amy studied my outstretched hand like it might detonate before she extended her own—hesitant but polite. Her glove was softer than expected, the fabric worn thin at the fingertips from years of wielding that massive hammer.
Up close, I could see the tiny pink quills that escaped her headband—some sticking straight up like they'd been electrocuted mid-sentence. Her nose twitched slightly as she sniffed the air—probably catching the distinct aroma of 'leather jacket that hasn't been washed since the Bush administration' mixed with 'new hedgehog who definitely hasn't had the chance to shower after dimension hopping.'
Amy's grip was firm—professional, even—but her eyes kept darting toward Sonic like she expected him to either vouch for me or suddenly remember an urgent appointment elsewhere. "Well... it's a pleasure to meet you Nox," she said, her voice dipping slightly at the end like it was a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered. The toaster under her arm emitted a faint *pop* noise, followed by the distinct smell of burnt circuitry.
Neither of us dared to acknowledge it.
Tails coughed into his fist—too loud, too deliberate—and nudged the scanner behind a toolbox with his tail. Sonic, meanwhile, had adopted the expression of a man who'd just realized he'd left the stove on three towns over. Amy's eyebrow crept upward, her free hand settling on her hip in a gesture that somehow managed to convey both patience and imminent violence. "Okay," she said slowly, "someone's gonna explain why the air in here tastes like awkwardness and poor life choices."
I cleared my throat—my claws catching on the leather gloves' stitching—just as Sonic blurted, "He's my grandson from the future!" with the subtlety of a brick to the face.
I just looked over at him.
Of course Sonic the Hedgehog couldn't keep things a secret for even five fucking seconds. The lab's fluorescent lights flickered like they were physically cringing as Amy's eyes widened—slowly, dangerously—until they took up approximately forty percent of her face. Her grip on the toaster shifted subtly, fingers curling around its cord like a makeshift flail.
Tails facepalmed so hard his goggles cracked.
Amy inhaled through her nose—long, measured—like someone counting to ten in a language they barely spoke. The grocery bag split open with a dramatic *rrrip*, spilling screws and washers across the floor in perfect comedic timing. "Okay," she said in a tone usually reserved for toddlers holding knives, "let me get this straight—Sonic, we somehow have a *grandson* now, and he's"—she gestured at me with the toaster—"
The toaster chose that exact moment to eject a charred piece of toast that bounced off Tails' forehead with a hollow *plink*. He didn't even flinch, just adjusted his goggles with mechanical precision while staring blankly at the ceiling like it owed him money. Sonic scratched behind his ear—a nervous habit that sent stray quills sticking up at weird angles—his foot tapping arrhythmically against a stray spring that kept squeaking like a stepped on chew toy.
I coughed into my fist—partly to hide the nervous chuckle clawing its way up my throat, partly because Amy was now holding the toaster like it was a jury summons and I was the defendant.
Sonic then did a double take, "Wait OUR grandson?!" He questioned Amy's wording before realizing what she meant, his muzzle flushing a shade of blue that would make a cobalt crayon jealous. The lab's overhead lights flickered sympathetically—or maybe Tails was just short-circuiting from secondhand embarrassment as he facepalmed again, this time hard enough to leave goggle shaped indents on his forehead.
Amy rolled her eyes with the precision of someone who'd had to explain basic social cues to hedgehogs one too many times. "Well yeah," she turned over to me, "You are also MY grandson, right?"
I sighed slowly as to play along, "Because of the reason I am here I can not confirm or deny that, I only recealed as much as I did because of how much I resemble Sonic."
Amy's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in the way someone scrutinizes a particularly shady coupon. "Uh huh," she said, tapping the toaster against her palm like a detective about to deliver the big reveal. "So can I just take that as a yes then?"
Tails coughed—a sound suspiciously like "bullshit" disguised as a throat clearing—and pushed his cracked goggles up his nose with one finger. The resulting silence was so thick you could've spread it on toast. Amy tilted her head, the toaster cord swinging like a pendulum counting down to disaster. Sonic rubbed his temples, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "why do I even open my mouth."
Yeah,I was wondering the exact same thing.
For both of us.
"Let's just go see if Silver can help you with anything, does that sound good Nox?" Tails said a bit meekly, offering a way out of the increasingly awkward situation—his namesakes flicking nervously as he gestured toward the door with a wrench still clutched in his other hand.
Amy adjusted her grip on the toaster—now cradled like an infant she was reconsidering adopting—as Sonic coughed into his fist, the sound suspiciously similar to suppressed laughter. The lab's overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows that made my stupidly edgy jacket look even more unnecessarily dramatic. I nodded slowly, claws tapping an uneven rhythm against my thigh—half nerves, half the lingering muscle memory of a hedgehog who absolutely practiced air guitar in front of a mirror.
"So where does he live, if this is the point in time he's decided to live in the past?" I asked curiously, trying to sound casual while simultaneously resisting the urge to adjust my stupidly dramatic stance again. Tails' ears perked up slightly as he tapped a few buttons on his wrist device—the screen projecting a holographic map that flickered like a bad PowerPoint transition.
"Oh, he's got a place near the edge of
Resistance Headquarters," he said, zooming in on a blinking dot that suspiciously resembled a chili dog. "Kind of a mess—lots of floating furniture because he keeps forgetting gravity works differently here in this time from his—but it's his new home." The hologram flickered out as Tails rubbed his nose, suddenly looking ten years older.
Amy sighed, tossing the toaster onto a nearby table where it landed with a clatter and immediately started smoking. "Well, at least Silver won't judge your fashion choices," she muttered, eyeing my jacket like it personally offended her. "He's got a scarf longer than his life expectancy and given medical technology from his time, that's saying something."
Sonic snorted, then immediately pretended he hadn't as Tails shot him a look that could peel paint. The lab's ventilation system chose that moment to cough out a puff of smoke that vaguely resembled a middle finger, which seemed about right for how this conversation was going. I rubbed my temples—partly from the impending headache, partly because my stupid claws kept catching on my own fur—and exhaled through my nose in a way that made Amy take half a step back.
"Alright then, let's go then, huh?" Sonic clapped his hands together—too loudly, too fast—before immediately grimacing like he'd forgotten he was still holding a half eaten chili dog. The resulting *splat* echoed with the gravitas of a bad omen. Tails sighed, pulling a rag from somewhere (seriously, did he just have cleaning supplies tucked in his twin tails's fluffy fur?) and tossing it at Sonic's chest with the precision of a parent who'd done this exact maneuver approximately six thousand times before.
I took a deep breath—inhaling equal parts burnt toast and existential dread.
And off we went.
Again.