Chapter Text
A clattering of glass on tile broke Scourge of his stupor. He skidded into the kitchen and saw Zonic standing in the center of the room, hand curved around a now non-existent glass. Navy quills raised in complete indignation as he turned towards Scourge.
“It jumped,” Zonic deadpanned with a sigh. His blinks were slow, his body being held together by pure tension. He looked exhausted.
Scourge smirked, “I'm sure it did.”
Zonic just blankly looked to the ground at the large, fractured pieces. Like his viewing would either bring the cup back or clean the glass from the floor. Scourge let out a low whistle at the display. He'd never seen the other so unkempt. A few quills were stuck out in multiple places, circles lined under his eyes making his hunter green look even darker, but the worst offense was his posture. Scourge had never seen Zonic at less than perfectly up right and ram rod straight. It's why he was positive there was a stick jammed up there. Now, however, he'd be surprised to find out the navy hedgehog had a spine at all. His shoulders rolled forward and hunched in on himself like gravity was trying to pull him to the ground and make him rest.
“Wanted water,” Zonic explained, his eyes still firmly on the floor, “Glass was slick.”
Zonic rubbed his fingers together like there was a fine film of material on them. Scourge scratched at his ear and tried to look nonchalant. There definitely wasn't flour he'd missed in clean up, making things slippery. Nope. Not at a-
Zonic held his hand up to Scourge, “Why’s there powder?”
“So see, what had happened was-”
Zonic made an abrupt noise in the back of his throat, cutting Scourge off, “Changed my mind. Don't wanna know.”
Without flinching, Zonic stepped on the broken pieces to rummage through the cabinet he was situated in front of. Shards of glass crackled under the weight of his boot. His huffs got more and more frustrated as he pushed aside bags and boxes that had not been there before he left the apartment. But his brain couldn't register that. Just that he wasn't finding what he was looking for.
Spinning on his heel, Zonic faced Scourge, “Where are they?”
“Where's what, babe?”
Zonic didn't reply, just went back to digging in the cabinet. He started flinging things to the ground now, shoving items to the side and searching around them was taking too much energy. He needed to remove them from his line of sight. Scourge hurried to his side, mindful of the glass on the floor as he was only in socks, and grabbed at Zonic's wrists.
“Dude, what are ya lookin' for?”
Zonic wrenched his hands back from Scourge and grunted, “Caffeine pills. I have work. Can't fall asleep. Not yet.”
Scourge snorted, “Really? Ya sure that's the smartest fuckin’ idea?”
Zonic didn't respond. His dead stare going far past Scourge. What little synapses he had left to fire off were putting him on autopilot. Ticking off boxes to get from task to task. Just to keep him going long enough to get one more break through. To make up for his stumble. That's what the last twenty-four hours had been. A stakeout gone bad, getting chewed out by his boss, and worse - somehow he’d contaminated the crime scene. Him. Zonic.
A navy quill was found pricked into the victim’s corpse during the autopsy. He didn't even think he'd gotten that close to it during the preliminary once over he'd given the body. But he'd seen the damning quill himself. It was equally concerning to him he was shedding so easily as he prided himself on his upkeep and maintenance.
“Chaos, you're fuckin’ gone aincha? What? Ya think you're above sleepin’ or something?”
Zonic’s lip upturned into a snarl, shoving past the green hedgehog in front of him, an obstacle, “Yeah. I do.”
He'd heard enough pestering from Zector about it. So what if he hadn't slept in the last couple days? Zonic'd like to see the crocodile try and sleep with what he's had to put up with in less than seventy-two hours. How was he supposed to predict his all-nighter the day before intaking Scourge was a bad idea?
Then there was actually dealing with the hedgehog himself. Being assaulted in his own kitchen and having to drag the offender back to the guest room. No time for naps when he worked from home the next day, left for lunch, had…all that had happened with him and Scourge immediately after. And then getting called right back to work where, again, he wasn't going to sleep on the clock. Not with Zector’s kids potentially in danger in his apartment with the green menace and their communications knocked out from being in such a backwater Zone. Now there was a case to solve that he’d majorly screwed up after being asked to be brought on. How the hell could he sleep after that?
Zonic wiped a hand down his face as he headed towards his office. He was pretty sure he had a bottle of caffeine pills stashed away in one of the desk drawers. His slow march being followed closely by a green colored shadow only grew to irritate him.
“Go away,” Zonic groaned through clenched teeth.
Scourge circled around to the front of him, bracing hands on either shoulder, “You're fuckin’ exhausted, babe. Go t’ bed.”
“Fuck off,” Zonic swiped the hands from his shoulders and hip checked Scourge to get around him.
The motion was a blur. And by the time Zonic registered his back was pressed against the wall, Scourge’s lips were breaking away from his own.
“See. Ya ain’t even flinched,” Scourge smirked, barely using any force to keep Zonic attached to the wall by a forearm, “Normally, you’d ‘ve kicked my ass t’ the ground. Who ya helpin’ bein’ like this?”
“Everyone,” Zonic snarled. He tried to lift his shoulders away from the wall but he was pinned.
“Why's that? Why's it gotta be you, babe?”
“Just does.”
Scourge clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Not a good ‘nough reason. Try again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Later,” Scourge winked much to Zonic’s disgust, “But you're too fuckin’ tired t' even get it up, ‘m sure.”
“Get. Off.”
“Like I said, I'll getcha off lat-.”
Scourge wasn't ready for the headbutt that followed. Both hedgehogs hit the ground as they simultaneously rubbed hands to foreheads. Scourge felt his nose as a trickle of blood trailed down. He took off his shirt and held the cloth up to stop the bleeding.
Zonic was on his feet first, walking to his office. He was dizzy now, which is why he thought he hit the ground a second time. Tripping over his own feet. But no, it was Scourge, hands wrapped tightly around his ankles and halting him with enough force to make him taste carpet again.
“What's so damn important ya can't take a break, asshole?”
Zonic’s eyes steeled with such a cold fury that the green hedgehog flinched back, “If someone dies. Another victim. That's. On. Me.”
The weight of that admission hung around Scourge's neck. He didn't know how to argue that. He didn't even know why Zonic had to urgently leave the apartment for work in the first place.
“That shit ain't on you,” Scourge said, “How could it be? Ya ain't killed no one.”
Zonic snorted and his cold eyes got even colder, “Not directly.”
“Seriously,” Scourge scrambled to sit closer to the hedgehog, “That ain't your problem. You punishin’ yourself ain't helpin’ no one, Za-nicky.”
Zonic lost it.
“HE’S STILL LOOSE! THAT'S MY FAULT! MY PROBLEM! IF SOMEONE DIES…I KILLED THEM! ME! ZONIC! ALL MY RESPONSIBILITY!”
Zonic’s chest was heaving with the exertion of shouting. His body felt as heavy as lead, he was fighting every fiber of his being to avoid closing his eyes for too long in between blinks. Fists shaking at his sides, he wanted nothing more than to melt into the soft carpet and sleep. But he couldn't.
Not when the guilt would eat him from the inside out. Not when he had hours upon hours of civilian interviews to pour over. Not when his intuition or ego fucked up an investigation and turned up nothing, probably tipping the serial killer onto their manhunt and sending them packing. If he woke up to hear that there was a new body, those next empty eye sockets staring at him in blame would be certain he could never forgive himself.
“Then don't take the responsibility, babe.”
Zonic’s eyes met Scourge's in confusion, “What?”
“Put that shit on me. I'm the one makin' ya take a break. I'm the one pushin’ ya t’ go t’ sleep. Give it t’ me. I'll carry it for ya,” Scourge looked sheepishly to the side and scratched at the back of his neck, “Done far worse shit ‘n somethin’ like that, ya know. So if someone croaks…it’s my fault.”
Zonic didn't know what to say. He was tired. The burden of his work, his career, his title, bearing down on his chest for far too long. He’d never choose to set it down on anyone else, and no one else had ever offered to take it up.
But there was Scourge, offering himself up as a scapegoat. A role the green hedgehog was all too familiar with.
“‘S okay, really,” Scourge’s arms dropped to his side, “Ain't the first time someone's death was pinned on me. And no one’s even fuckin’ died yet.”
Zonic just sat stunned as Scourge stood and offered out a hand, his expression unreadable.
“Let's getcha t’ bed, babe.”
Zonic robotically took the hand that was given and found his feet. He let himself be led to his bedroom and sat down on the bed. Numbly aware of his boots being unlaced and set to the side; his communicator watch being removed and placed on the nightstand.
Scourge had so much he wanted to say to the navy hedgehog. A whole conversation interrupted by the other's work and now this. It wasn't the time, wasn't the place, and maybe they’d never find a new ‘when’ and ‘where' for it. At least, he knew they wouldn't if the other continued on this way. Maybe that's why it was so important he help the other out. To get answers to his own selfish questions. Or maybe it was being entrusted by those closest to Zonic to take care of him when it was so obvious he wasn't taking care of himself.
Zonic only put up a fight when Scourge tried to cover him with the duvet. Suddenly springing to his feet and stripping off the body suit and lightweight armor he’d been working in for the last day. Modesty was the last thing he cared about and didn't even notice as Scourge turned flush at the sight.
“Uncomfortable as hell,” Zonic muttered before collapsing back into the bed.
“I'll just, um…leave ya at it,” Scourge said, watching Zonic adjust himself into a sleeping position on his side, facing away from him and the door, “I'll wake ya up in a couple ‘o hours.”
There was barely enough time for Scourge to leave and walk out of the bedroom before the gruff, short command was barked out.
“Wait.”
It was an ask that Scourge wouldn't admit out loud he was hoping to hear, but his tail didn't stop wagging once he did. Turning back around, he still just saw Zonic's back. This time with an invitation. His arm folding up the covers of the space in front of him.
“If you want…”
And Scourge knew there would be no second offer. Not when he could already hear Zonic's breathing evening out and his tense shoulders going lax. He was nearly half-asleep when he had slurred the words out.
Scourge quickly walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. The feeling of crisp, cold sheets didn't even register a chill as he pressed bare chest to chest with Zonic. Sharing body heat and breath. The navy hedgehog already looked asleep in the time it had taken Scourge to accept his offer. Apparently not asleep enough to stop him from reaching an arm out, wrapping a firm vice around Scourge's waist and holding him in even closer.
“Thank you.”
The gratitude was breathy and mumbled and Scourge wasn't entirely certain he didn't hallucinate it. But still, even if it was a figment of his imagination, the involuntary response was immediate. Scourge felt his heartbeat jump into his throat. The quickened pulse was the only thing he could hear in the room besides the beginnings of a gentle snore. He swallowed thickly.
Swallowed down a truth he wasn't sure he wanted to admit when he first saw the hedgehog standing in the foyer but couldn't deny any longer. Not laying this close with only the quiet and a breath between them. Uneasily, queasy with unanswered feelings and gnawing questions, Scourge closed his eyes and willed the world to be simple again.
__________________________
“I get it, good sycophants are hard to come by,” Maxx lorded over Scourge, the hedgehog still on the ground and not even able to writhe in pain from the crumpling gut punch that put him there, “But we make do with what we’re given, don't we?”
Scourge couldn't find the strength to respond. Even just saying his traitorous ex-girlfriend’s name took more out of him than he had to give.
“Now,” Maxx straightened back up from how he had crouched after Scourge hit the ground, his smile was haughty but measured, “I, unfortunately, have some business to take care of with Mogul across town. Rebuilding an empire takes so much hands-on work. But my boys here will take excellent care of you, Snot. That I can assure you.”
Maxx took several steps away and into the darkness before Scourge heard him call out, “Make me proud, Jeffrey.”
“With pleasure, my king,” the skunk sneered, leaning down to grab Scourge's neck, fist cocked back and primed to strike, “Now remember Snot, this is just for Maxx. My business comes after and trust me, you'll wish I'd have killed you during this instead.”
Scourge wouldn't waste the energy to speak, but the blood continuing to pool in his mouth gave him an opportunity too good to pass. He launched a glob of spit and blood right at his former gang member’s eyes. Not as direct a hit as he’d have liked, but the mess sprayed red all over the white collared shirt the skunk had been peacocking around in.
Jeffrey smiled wide, “Same old Scourge. Never knowing when it's better to lay down and take it quietly.”
Scourge didn't know how many blows came down on him. Just that Jeffrey was the first and it sent him down to the ground. Then came the boots, kicking and stomping. Someone's hands grabbed his wrists and ankles, holding him open, keeping him from curling in on himself. Open for kicks to land on every soft part of his body.
With his chaos energy sapped by the bootleg inhibitor collar, Scourge didn't even have a buffer. He’d forgotten how much getting hit hurt without that extra juice coursing through his veins. A year out of prison and he was having selective memory of all the beatings he'd gotten day in and day out and what his body felt like as he curled up on the metal frame of his mattressless bunk. Mattressless because he didn't have the energy or lose enough self-respect that day to give in to Small’s speech about cellmates scratching each other's backs. That if Scourge wanted something, he'd have to give more back with ‘that smart-ass mouth of his’.
Small cuts and bruises weren't healing instantly. Incessant bleeding from one such cut above his eye ridge causing him to close that eye. The other one swelling shut, blackened. A rib snapped under a heavy kick and as Scourge gasped, he was certain it had punctured a lung.
It wasn't until he started coughing up blood that Jeffrey put a stop to the beating. Kneeling down on the ground next to Scourge with a gratifying smirk, “Have to keep you alive for this next part, old friend. Really, Snot, we could have gotten this over with in prison if you’d have just remembered your damn place.”
Scourge was gasping for air, every inch of him hurt. The pain of being moved to his stomach was blinding and sharp. He curled upwards, trying to avoid putting weight on his chest. It didn't help that Jeffrey was pressing down on him. Bending Scourge’s quills harmlessly against his chest.
Scourge was barely aware of the sounds of St. Clair barking out orders to the remaining thugs. Telling them to keep watch or head to Maxx's next locale. No. Scourge's main focus was on breathing, taking in one inhale after another, trying to fill his lungs up with anything other than blood.
He didn't feel it. He didn't feel it when Jeffrey started rocking his hips up into him. No. He was focusing on breathing. In. Out. Lungs open. Lungs contract.
Not on his situation. Not on the pain. Not on the cuff keeping him from defending himself, healing himself, feeling like himself.
…he wasn't himself.
He was…he was Snot again. That’s why this was happening. This…this wasn't happening to Scourge, King of Moebius. He was Snot, the punching bag of No Zone prison. A powerless bitch who knew…who knew his place.
“You should have just died in prison,” Jeffrey grunted behind him. Babbling his contempt that compounded exponentially over the years, “Then this wouldn't be happening. Brag all you want about being a king but you're just lucky. Someday, you'll realize that. Living off your father's name, your brother's genius, your crew’s power. You're nothing. Lost your crown, your kingdom, your home."
More nothing. More nothing.
"Honestly you should have died in that fucked up war you made us fight in. You surviving anything past that was a fluke. A mercy of someone better than yourself."
Lungs expand. Lungs contract.
"The wrong hedgehog died that day your father went. You should at least remember that, Scourge.”
Not Scourge. Not Scourge. He wasn't Scourge.
He was Snot. He was Snot. He was Snot.
He was…
It might have been minutes or hours after the bootleg inhibitor cuff shorted out, but Snot lay there in the lonely alleyway until his rib set.
Lucky.
He was meant to die, but luck had saved him.
Pushing himself up in his hands, Snot ran back to the burrow he’d made for himself days ago. A blur of green. Snot curled up on himself and cried, the tears slipping out quicker than he could pretend they weren't there.
The memories shuffled together and tried to make themselves make sense.
Snot was dirt. Scourge was king.
Snot was weak. Scourge was strong.
Snot had stayed. Scourge had run.
Snot couldn't fight back, he didn't have his quills, shaved to nubs.
Scourge had quills, and those quills kept him from getting beat up like Snot.
Getting hurt like Snot.
Getting-
Snot curled in on himself tighter. Tears came out faster.
And the longer and harder Snot cried, the angrier Scourge got.