Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Knuckles sat on the roof of the Wachowski home, his knees drawn up as he looked out over the treetops surrounding Green Hills. Music filtered into his ears through the headphones tucked between his quill dreads. Guitar riffs and drum beats and synthesizers drowned out the sounds of nature around him.

Normally, these songs made him happy. They reminded him of the time he and Wade had gone on the road trip to Reno. He had been training Wade in the ways of the warrior, like his father had trained him, but Wade had seemed to teach him a few things, too.

How to accept any success as a victory. How to let his guard down. How to enjoy music and time with others.

It hadn’t occurred to Knuckles at the time, but Wade had become his best friend. His first real friend. Sonic didn’t count—their friendship started as more of an alliance born of necessity. That wasn’t to say that Sonic wasn’t a friend, it was just . . . different.

They’d become brothers. Knuckles had been welcomed into the hedgehog’s tribe. It was a great honor to be accepted into the Wachowski home, and he gave thanks his path had led him here.

But the situation with Sonic was different.

Wade had extended his hand in friendship without expectations, without judgment. He had fought when Knuckles had been captured by the rogue G.U.N. agents. Risked his life to save Knuckles, even if the rescue hadn’t gone exactly as planned.

Wade may not have showed promise as the equal of an echidna warrior, but he had a warrior’s heart, nonetheless.

And he had accepted Knuckles for who he was.

He had taken Knuckles to meet his family, and they too had accepted him. The meal had been a fine one, and the time spent with Mother Whipple afterward had been greatly enjoyable. He felt just as accepted into their clan as he had been the Wachowskis.

Yes, he was greatly honored to know such an honorable man as Wade Whipple.

The current song ended, and a new one began.

And now he was gone.

Knuckles’ grip tightened on the Discman, and he had to force himself to relax. He glanced down at it, nestled in his large mitt, covered with little scratches and stickers for bands he had never heard of. Evidence of a life of regular use.

It had been Wade’s. He’d given it to Knuckles a few months ago, since the echidna didn’t have a phone or any convenient way to listen to the Jammerz CDs Wade had made him.

“I pass it to you, my warrior master,” Wade had said in a deeper voice as he handed it to Knuckles. “May you rock out to your jams whenever your heart desires.”

A little smile curled Knuckles’ lip. His jams. He’d never had jams before. Not until Wade.

The smile dropped, and his throat tightened.

He turned the music up.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Wade wasn’t supposed to be gone.

It had happened a week ago. Another ‘big baddie’, as Sonic liked to call them, had come, and Knuckles and the hedgehog and fox had gone out to protect their home. They did battle, things went south, and Tom and Wade had come to help.

He should have sent them away.

Maybe Wade thought he had to prove himself. Maybe Knuckles’ teachings had raised Wade’s confidence to almost arrogant levels. Maybe he truly thought himself a warrior, and thus joined the fight to help his fellow brothers-in-arms.

Whatever the reason, Wade had put himself in harm’s way to keep Tails safe.

And it had cost him his life.

He had died in Knuckles’ arms.

His apprentice. His friend.

Gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Knuckles should have been faster. Stronger. He should have protected not only Tails, but Wade as well. Humans weren’t like him and his brothers. They were more vulnerable, physically. An attack that he or the hedgehog could easily shake off could be . . . had been . . . devastating to a human.

Why hadn’t he considered that before? Why had he never thought about how much weaker humans were? They weren’t as strong, that was a given, but their bodies were just so . . . weak. Fragile. Delicate. One good blow and they’d crumble.

He was a fool to have missed that.

The song ended and another began, the last on the CD—“KnuxJammerz01”. Wade had drawn little pictures and words on the front of the label, little cartoons of himself and Knuckles, smiling and rocking out to little musical notes around them. The little drawn echidna wore dark glasses, and it had made Knuckles laugh when he’d seen it the first time.

His throat tightened again, and he swallowed hard.

He wanted to stop the CD. This was the last song, and then there was one more recording before it would loop back to the beginning. He didn’t want to hear that recording. It hurt too much.

Knuckles shouldn’t have trained him. Shouldn’t have gotten close to him. Shouldn’t have become best friends and gone bowling once a week and met his family and learned to have fun and enjoyed the music Wade had shown him.

If none of that had happened, Wade would still be here.

Guilt ate at Knuckles, and he didn’t understand it.

Wade fell in battle. That was the greatest honor a warrior could receive. Wade should—theoretically—be in the Great Battleground in the Sky, alongside the other warriors from Knuckles’ tribe. (He supposed. He wasn’t clear on what kind of afterlife Wade’s religion spoke of.) Knuckles should be happy for Wade, proud of him for his bravery and valor. Wade fell protecting others and fighting a great evil. He performed admirably and honorably when the situation was dire.

That was all Knuckles knew.

You live, you fight, you die. That’s what his tribe had taught him. And that’s what he had taught Wade.

That was life.

. . .

But that’s not what Wade had taught him.

Wade taught him to live. To find things in life that brought happiness. To celebrate the little things. To enjoy things like bowling and music and mini golf. Things that would seem silly to a fierce warrior, but that had been . . . fun. Knuckles always had fun with Wade. And the universe didn’t seem so hard and dangerous for a while.

The song ended, and a knot tightened in Knuckles’ chest, right behind his ribs. He closed his eyes, almost steeling himself for the last track on the CD.

"Hey, hey! You're listening to W.A.D.E, Wade Radio and these go out to a very special little red dude who taught me to find my own strength. You’re the best space echidna I’ve ever known, even if you need a little work on your 7/10 splits. Nah, I’m just kidding! Love ya Knux, and I hope you liked the tunes! Until next time, this is Wade, signing off! Later!”

The sound of his friend’s voice made that knot in his chest tighter, twisting it painfully as his throat constricted. He swallowed, tasting tears.

No. No. He should be happy that Wade got to prove himself in battle. Proud of him. That’s what all warriors aspire for.

. . . right?

So why did he feel so horrible? Why did his chest feel like it was in a great fist, one that was squeezing tighter and tighter as the moments ticked by? Why did he find no pleasure from the music that used to make him happy? Why did just hearing Wade’s voice make him want to scream and cry and break things?

The Discman whirred softly, and the first song started again.

Suddenly angry, Knuckles moved to turn it off, but his large mitts made him clumsy. The Discman slipped from his hand, hitting the slant of the roof and sliding toward the edge.

“NO!” he cried, lunging for it before it could go over, but he was too slow. He watched as the device slipped over the edge of the roof, yanking the headphones from his dreads. It fell, landing on the cement below with a gut churning CRUNCH.

Knuckles crawled to the edge of the roof, looking down at the shattered device below. He couldn’t tell from this angle if the CD itself was damaged.

The fist around his chest tightened. If the CD was broken, he’d never hear Wade’s voice again. It was his only copy.

The anger that had been a little flash a moment ago roared into a blazing fire now.

This was wrong. All of it. Wade shouldn’t be gone. Knuckles shouldn’t be feeling so terrible. Everything should still be like it was a week ago.

It wasn’t fair. He’d survived for over 10 years by himself out in the galaxy and never once cried or felt like his chest was about to collapse and suffocate him like it did now.

He felt like a child again. After his tribe had fallen.

After his father had fallen.

No. He would not think of that.

Only he had, and now that old grief came up to mix with his new. The pain in his chest grew tenfold, and he felt like he was drowning.

Knuckles gasped in a few shallow breaths, before pushing them out in a loud, almost primal scream. He turned, running the length of the roof, before jumping down and heading for his homemade obstacle course.

Training. He needed to train. To get his mind off this and become stronger. So this never, ever, ever happened again.

Hours later.

Knuckles moved through his course again, running and jumping and swinging through the dangerous platforms. He’d lost count how many times he’d completed it today. He simply wanted that tight feeling in his chest, that ache, to go away.

It wasn’t working.

He was getting tired, and his movements became more sloppy. His timing was off, resulting in scratches and bruises he would have easily avoided in the past.

His patience was also gone. When he mistimed a jump and got a face full of tree, he growled, pulling his fist back and delivering a blow that exploded it to splinters.

That wouldn’t be the only casualty of his temper.

Shortly before sunset, his obstacle course more closely resembled a demolition zone. Every trap, every challenge, every barrier in his carefully constructed course was destroyed. Now he focused on the large boulders that surrounded the course, pounding and punching and shattering them one-by-one in an attempt to soothe his grief and sorrow.

Every punch left a shower of dust and pebbles.

But did nothing to lessen his pain.

He grunted and growled and gnashed his teeth. He drew on his power and destroyed anything within reach. He pounded the ground, sending shockwaves through the Earth, confusing seismologists for the foreseeable future.

But still that pain remained.

He threw another boulder across three miles, and turned to scream toward the heavens.

“WHY? Why does my chest ache as though a hole has opened inside it? Why am I not more proud he fell with honor in battle? Why . . . why . . .”

He paused, breathing hard and almost deflating as all the tension ran out of him.

“It isn’t fair.” He spoke softly, his voice sounding much younger than his age. “It is not fair. He was my friend. My first real friend who did not betray me, or trick me, or use me. He made me feel . . . as though I belonged. As though he understood me. He did not judge me or scold me when I made mistakes and destroyed something in error. He . . .”

Knuckles’ voice trailed off, and he stood still for a moment. When he lost his tribe, he never had the luxury of admitting to himself how he felt about it. There was shock, there was sadness, but there was no time to wallow in those feelings. His people’s quest still needed to be completed. He focused on that and pushed everything else to the back of his mind. Shoved it away, hid it beneath anger and the determination to survive, to succeed. After a while, the fact that he was the last of his kind became his norm, his new reality, and those old feelings had faded into distant memories.

But now, his quest was over. He was with a new tribe. There was nothing more pressing to occupy his attention, leaving him open to thinking and feeling everything about this loss.

“I miss my friend.”

The words came out shaky and broken, and the admission was like a dam had shattered. All the guilt, all the grief, all the sorrow and loneliness slammed into him, pushing that knot in his chest up into his throat and forcing out a sob. Knuckles slapped a hand over his mouth, and fell to his knees as tears flooded his eyes.

Warriors don’t cry. He hadn’t cried since that day, way back when his tribe fell.

But no matter how much he scolded himself, he could not stop. More sobs echoed in the quiet forest, and tears dripped down his snout, dripping onto the forest floor beneath him. He cried for his lost tribe. And he cried for his lost father.

And as the stars winked into the sky above him, Knuckles the Echidna, the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy, cried for his lost friend.

Chapter Text

Callie stared at the larger envelope nestled in with her credit card bills and junk mail as she kicked the front door closed with her foot. It was one of those thick manilla-ish ones, with the cushioning inside. The words “DO NOT BEND” were stamped in red ink on the front, right between her address and the stamp. Her eyes moved to the return address, even though they didn’t need to. She recognized the handwriting.

It was from Wade. Sent two days before he died, if the postmark was anything to go by.

Why had it taken over a week to get to her? Green Hills wasn’t exactly a huge metropolis, it shouldn’t have taken so long.

She shook her head. Didn’t matter. It’s not like Wade would have complained to the post office had he known. That’s just not the guy he was. He didn’t complain, even when he should. Always tried to see the good in others. Tried to be friends with everyone.

Even those who were closed off. And had been for years. Who thought they didn’t need anyone, were fine in their self-isolation. Who was sure, 100% positive she didn’t want any friends.

Somehow, he’d managed to get her walls down. And they’d become friends. Best friends, even.

And now he was gone.

nope not thinking about this nuh uh

She turned, heading to the kitchen to put her few groceries away. She tossed the mail on the island, doing her best to ignore that envelope. It was probably another of his Jammerz CDs. Who sends that stuff in the mail these days? Just a waste of a stamp, honestly. He could just send a link through email or something. She’d asked him about it when she’d received the last CD, and he’d simply shrugged and said “Isn’t it nice to get a good surprise in the mail instead of just bills and junk?”

A little smile curled her lips. A good surprise. Wade always had a knack for surprising her. Saying something or doing something completely unexpected to make her laugh or smile.

Like giving his life to save a little fox boy. To save his town.

The smile dropped.

stop it stop it stop it

Callie slammed the fridge door shut and grabbed the rest of the mail from the counter. The CD envelope fell to the floor, and she pointedly ignored it as she tossed the junk mail in the trash and tucked the bill statements into the caddy on her desk. She’d have to do some bill paying soon.

A sound behind her, and she turned to see Bloom scratching at the envelope on the floor.

“Bloom!” she hissed, drawing a head tilt from the tuxedo cat. Callie moved over, shooing the cat away and retrieving the envelope. She stared at the return address for a moment, before tossing it on the island.

don’t think about it, don’t think about him, think of something else

Bill paying. Right. No time like the present.

The redhead sat herself at her desk, booting up her laptop. Out of habit she opened her email, deleting the junk and checking the important things. She skimmed her inbox, her eyes coming to a sudden stop at a read one nestled in between one from her mortgage company and a monthly newsletter.

wadewrockz20@. . . Subj: Something to cheer you up!

Her throat tightened.

Her hand moved without her permission, clicking the email open. Inside was a short cat video, a little orange tabby meowing loudly and angrily at a closed door, only to drop to a sweeter little meow once his owner came closer.

Below this, Wade had written:

“Reminds me of you! Fierce and scary, but sweet and kind. Hope your day gets better! :)”

The video played on a loop as she read and reread those three short sentences. He’d sent it two days before he died, probably right after he mailed the CD. That had been a bad day for her—just one of those days when everyone seemed in a bad mood and taking it out on her. She’d vented to Wade about it, and less than 15 minutes later she’d gotten that email. And she had to admit, it had lifted her mood.

He was good at that. Making her feel better. Lifting her spirits. Making her laugh.

But she wasn’t laughing now.

With a grunt, she clicked off the email, slamming the laptop closed.

A lump had formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

She wasn’t going to cry. Wouldn’t allow herself. Even after the memorial service, she’d thrown herself back into work. Focused on taking care of others—the Wachowskis, specifically. Wade was a friend to her, but like family to them.

She’d dealt with loss before. Had someone ripped away from her. She was used to this kind of pain. It was familiar.

And she was used to being alone. She’d been alone for a long time before she even met Wade, so it wasn’t like their lives had been so intricately entwined that she didn’t know how to function now that he was gone.

Besides, crying wasn’t going to bring him back. Falling to pieces wouldn’t change what happened. Life moved on, and she just trudged along with it.

Maddie thought she was in denial. She really wasn’t. She knew Wade was gone. Didn’t delude herself into thinking he wasn’t. She accepted it.

avoiding it, you mean

Her lips pulled tight. She wasn’t avoiding anything.

you’re avoiding it, doing everything you can to simply not think about anything that had to do with him

She let out a huff. Glanced back at the envelope on the island.

“Fine,” she said to no one. She got up and walked to the counter, snatching the envelope up. “This is me, not avoiding it.”

Callie tore open the envelope, and pulled the CD out. The label on the front was decorated in Wade’s doodles and stylized letters, titling the disc as “CalJammerz03”.

The corner of her lip pulled up in a little smile as she slid the CD into her stereo and clicked ‘Play’. A soft whirring as the disc spun, and then the track number appeared in the display.

“Hey, Cal!”

Wade’s voice rang clear and steady through her speakers, and her eyes went wide. He’d never recorded anything on her previous CDs.

"Welcome to another Jammerz CD, with songs I picked specially for you! Some are ones I think you’ll like, and others are ones that just remind me of you. Betcha can’t tell which is which, haha!”

A knot appeared in Callie’s chest, tightening painfully behind her ribs.

“Hey, uh, while I’m at it, there’s something I wanna ask ya. We both know I'll never have the guts to say this to you in person, warrior-in-training or not, amiright? But . . . I really like you. Like, ya know, like you like you. Gah, that sounds so dumb! But you’re so sweet and funny and I'd really like to, ya know, go out sometime. If that's something you'd want. I mean, no pressure. Totally okay if you don’t! Anyway, on to the tunes!"

A guitar riff with a heavy drum beat began, and filled her house with music.

She barely heard it.

She stared at the stereo, hand hovering over the back button. With a quick jab the music cut off, and Wade’s voice greeted her again.

“. . . I really like you . . .”

“. . . I’d really like to, ya know, go out sometime.”

The music was back, blaring out an upbeat tempo that ordinarily may have made her want to move or sing along to it.

But instead she just stared.

The knot in her chest shifted as his words echoed in her ears.

“. . . you’re so sweet and funny . . .”

She swallowed. Hard.

Thirsty. She was thirsty. She needed a drink.

Turning abruptly, Callie hurried to the fridge. She yanked the door open with a jerk, rattling the condiments on the door. Grabbing a bottle of water, she moved to close the door when another bottle caught her eye.

Beer. Wade’s favorite brand. She usually kept a six pack on hand for when he stopped by in the evenings, and the two of them would sit on her deck and chat. He with a beer, she with her wine cooler.

She stood there and stared at the bottle, this drink that would go to waste now that he was gone. She didn’t like the taste, and Tom preferred a different brand. There were four other bottles behind the first—he’d only had one out of the latest pack she’d bought.

When was that? Three days before he died. He’d stopped by after work, and they’d sat on her deck until nearly ten o’clock.

Just chatting.

Sharing time together.

Enjoying each other’s company.

Callie set the water bottle on the counter next to the fridge, and reached in for the beer. She pulled it out, watching as the liquid inside sloshed against the glass, a thin line of fizz floating to the top.

A little smile tugged at her lips. Wade could never open a beer without it spilling. No matter how careful he tried to be, he always had a foamy little waterfall flowing over his fingers. He’d gasp, before laughing and saying “Every time!”

And she would laugh, too. She laughed so much when he was around. He just had that affect on her. No matter how grumpy or sad or otherwise blah she felt, he knew just how to make her smile. Make her laugh. Make her feel alive.

The smile faded.

He’d never drink a beer again. She’d never watch him spill it on himself again. He’d never stop by after work just to chat, or to check in to see if she needed anything again.

The current song ended, and a new one started. The familiar guitar beats at the start told her it was Since U Been Gone.

As the first verse flowed over her, the words finding no purchase in her mind, Callie looked at the bottle in her hand. Ran her thumb over the label.

It was here, but Wade was not. This stupid bottle of alcohol was here, but Wade, the kind, funny, sweet, gentle soul of a man was not.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

What kind of universe allows someone as good-hearted as Wade to die? He was kind to all, even those who were unkind to him. He was good and pure and sweet and liked her damnit he liked her and there could have been more between them if she had gotten this damned CD earlier or made the first move herself if she weren’t so goddamned scared of letting herself feel!

The music ramped up as the chorus began, and Callie snapped.

She pushed out a scream, one full of anger and rage and fury and grief and regret. She screamed at the bottle in her hand before turning and hurling it across the room, where it smashed against the far wall. One by one she threw the remaining bottles of beer, relishing the satisfying crash of breaking glass.

Her wine coolers went next, sending a multi-colored splatter pattern over her walls.

Looking back in the fridge, she saw the jar of pickles—bought for Wade, for when she invited him over for burgers. She didn’t like pickles. No sense keeping those! Another crash and the brine joined the alcohol already coating her walls, a few pickle slices stuck to the mess.

She slammed the fridge shut, and moved to the cabinet next to it. If Wade stopped by before work, there were two mugs from her stash he favored. She pulled those out and threw them as hard as she could against the ever growing mess of her wall.

On and on she went, smashing and destroying anything and everything that Wade had used, or that reminded her of him. He was gone, gone, never coming back, and she did not want these things staring her in the face for the rest of time. Reminding her of what she couldn’t have, or what could have been.

The music played on, acting as the soundtrack for the release of her anger. Her grief. Sometimes she screamed. Sometimes she belted out the lyrics at the top of her voice. Sometimes she just growled as she destroyed.

But she did not cry.

Her phone rang, and Maddie’s contact photo appeared.

Wade would never call her again. Her last text to him would go unanswered.

She chucked the phone across the room, laughing as it smashed into the TV, cracking both of the screens.

And still her anger raged.

Maddie put her phone down, a troubled expression crossing her face.

Callie wasn’t answering. She hadn’t answered for days. “It’s just been busy,” the librarian had said once Maddie had managed to catch her at the library yesterday. A reasonable answer, Maddie supposed, but she wasn’t convinced. The redhead looked worn. Distant. Brushed off every query about her wellbeing.

Maddie was worried about her. But something else took priority.

She stood on the deck now, looking out over her backyard, watching the fireflies flicker to life. Knuckles had run off hours ago. He wasn’t dealing well with Wade’s death, but refused to talk about it. Refused to talk at all. She knew he was trying to be strong, but she’d seen the red rimmed eyes. The damp muzzle.

And he’d been inseparable from the Discman Wade had given him. Sonic had found it out on the front walk, broken, and Tails was working on it right now, trying to repair it. Maddie had no doubt he would—that fox could fix anything—but right now she wasn’t worried about some CD player. She was worried about her eldest son.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Knuckles shambled out of the dark forest, looking disheveled and tired. Maddie hurried over, stopping before him and going to one knee.

“There you are,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “Are you okay?”

He gave a curt nod, refusing to look at her.

“Do you feel any better?”

A pause. He pulled his lips tight. A shake of the head.

“Tails is working on fixing your CD player.”

He jerked his head to her, his eyes pleading. “The disc, was it . . .”

“It was okay,” she said, and he let out a breath in relief. “Not even a scratch. Sonic tried it in his stereo and it worked fine.”

“Good,” he said, and his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “That is good.”

Silence descended over them, and the only sound in the backyard were the crickets surrounding them. He cast his eyes away from her, his brow furrowed in sorrow.

Maddie wanted to reach forward and take all his grief away, but knew it impossible. She hadn’t been as close to Wade as Knuckles had been. None of them were, not even Tom. This boy was going through something the rest of them couldn’t understand. The loss of someone so important to you, so close to you, you felt like a piece of yourself were missing.

Knuckles was having a hard time dealing with it, and he wouldn’t talk to any of the family about it.

But maybe he would talk to someone who was going through the same thing.

“Honey, are you up for a quest?”

He turned back to her, an eyebrow raised. “What sort of quest?”

“Callie isn’t answering her phone and I’m a little worried about her. Do you think you could go over and check on her? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding and standing taller. “I will check on her.”

She smiled. “Good boy. Thank you.”

Knuckles nodded again, and hurried off in the direction of Mockingbird Lane.

Maddie watched him go, hoping that they could help each other heal, if only the smallest bit.

Knuckles emerged from the dark trees at Callie’s house, eyebrow cocked at how dark the house seemed. Normally the librarian left a light on over her deck, or sat outside to watch the stars on nice nights. Tonight neither was the case.

Curious, he moved closer, climbing the deck steps and peering in through the glass kitchen door. A few lights burned inside, but something was wrong. What he could see of the interior of the house was a mess, destruction strewn across the kitchen and living rooms. He gasped, yanking the kitchen door open and hurrying in.

He skidded to a stop just inside the door. Callie sat with her back against the end of the island, her knees drawn up and hands limp by her sides. Her glasses were gone, and a quick scan around her found them on the floor a few feet away. The signature braid she always wore was loose, and her hair hung like a curtain around her face.

She breathed heavy, as though after an intense workout. Music was playing, some song he didn’t recognize.

Knuckles took a step closer, and the woman turned her head toward him, her face exhausted and haunted.

They stared at each other for a moment, as the song ended. There was a soft whirring as the CD returned to the beginning of the disc.

“Hey, Cal!”

Knuckles jerked, snapping his head toward the living room.

"Welcome to another Jammerz CD, with songs I picked specially for you! Some are ones I think you’ll like, and others are ones that just remind me of you. Betcha can’t tell which is which, haha!”

The echidna turned back to Callie, who looked away, bringing her hands up to press the heels against her eyes.

“Hey, uh, while I’m at it, there’s something I wanna ask ya. We both know I'll never have the guts to say this to you in person, warrior-in-training or not, amiright? But . . . I really like you. Like, ya know, like you like you. Gah, that sounds so dumb! But you’re so sweet and funny and I'd really like to, ya know, go out sometime. If that's something you'd want. I mean, no pressure. Totally okay if you don’t! Anyway, on to the tunes!"

A song began, another Knuckles didn’t know, and he watched Callie’s reaction. She took a deep breath. And another. And then she spoke, her voice small and cracked and broken.

“I would’ve said yes.”

A soft whine left her throat, and she spoke again, her voice edge with grief.

“I would’ve said yes.”

A sob, one that was deep and full of pain.

“I would’ve said yes!”

She kept repeating the words, with more sobs mixed in. Soon the sobs overpowered the words, and she curled in on herself, looking like a child drowning in grief.

Knuckles watched her for a moment, his own sorrow knotting within his chest. He watched as Callie cried, missing the man that had meant so much to them both.

Without a word, Knuckles moved closer to her, swallowing hard as her sobs awoke his own grief. He went to a knee next to her, and wrapped his arms around her as well as he could. He squeezed, resting his forehead against her temple in an attempt to offer comfort.

At first she didn’t seem to realize he was there, but she soon uncurled, looking over at him. They shared a look for a moment, before Callie reached for him, and pulled him into her lap in a tight hug. Knuckles didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his arms around her, tucking his nose into the crook of her neck as his own tears fell once more.

The two stayed like that for a long while, holding each other as their shared grief washed over them. Sometimes Callie would cry, and Knuckles would hold her tight. Other times Knuckles would cry, and Callie would rock him gently. And then they would both cry, squeezing each other as though they were the only thing keeping them both from falling apart.

The music continued to play, and the two continued to hold each other. There would be many more tears shed between them, and it would take a long time before it stopped hurting, but for now, they shared their grief, and sought comfort together.