Sonic Series Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Still ❯ Standing Still ( One-Shot )

TITLE: Standing Still.

AUTHOR: Orin.

RATING: PG-13, simply because it's so strange… And there's a few light swear words, though not really.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own them, any of them. They all belong to Sega, or Fleetway, whichever characters you're referring to... *Sigh* Point is... They're not mine. Any of them. Therefore; disclaimer announced - suing pointless - don't you agree?

SPOILERS: I don't think so. Not in this chapter anyway.

FEEDBACK: Yes, but please be gentle - to - solaseireann@hotmail.com

PAIRINGS: None. None implied either… so don't go there…

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of Chaos, the Freedom Fighters are free to finally grieve the death of one of their own. Johnny Lightfoot. For some, the sudden recognition of this loss has all the crushing impact of a speeding freight train…(Based on events in the Fleetway SA adaptation.)

Okay. For me, Johnny's death was a shock. I didn't see it coming. Maybe I was blind, I dunno, but the point was that I didn't. So to me, that event was pretty memorable.

And if I'm honest - which I'm going to be - I have to admit, I was a little disappointed at the way I was played out.

Oh, the emotion was great; we even got to see tears in Sonic's eyes. (Though I was hoping for a more extended scene than the one printed. It seemed rather abrupt) Don't get me wrong., the death scene was very emotional, everything about it. From Amy's choked sob, to Sonic's disbelief and rising panic, down to the symbolic image of Johnny's broken staff…

But for me, sadly, it was still lacking.

(I'm terrible that way.) I mean, Johnny was in the comic since the beginning (Almost)… They seemed to have skimmed by his death rather quickly. He was a major character, part of the gang, one of the guys! (You get the picture)

So, anyway.

This is a sad attempt to do an `after scene', when all the fighting's been and done, and the guys finally have the time and leisure to realize that their friend is dead. And dead is dead; with no coming back.

OCCness abound of course… Without a doubt here…But then this is a dark-fic, so angst is a must have, and if I'm going to jump into the whole Johnny-is-dead-bandwagon, might as well be in for the lot, right?

Here goes…

Standing Still

By Orin.

For my Mom who almost went, but didn't, and in not going, opened my eyes.

*** *** ***

Because we don't know when we'll die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well, yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five more, perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.

- The Sheltering Sky -

*** *** ***

"For those who don't know out there, I didn't want to do this. For those who do, then, I'm repeating when I say, `I'm sure you could've found someone better…' But you seemed to think I was the guy for the job.

It's not like I could say no.

I'm not sure where to start. I guess the beginning would be best.

I knew Johnny Lightfoot pretty well. Not as well as a lot of you I can see sitting out there, family, sisters, brothers. But I'd like to say he was my friend… One of my best friends.

He was a fighter too, a good one. He was a guy I could count on to guard my back because he always came through for me in the end…

To the end…

He was courageous. He took up the cause for freedom, and he never wavered. Not once.

I did though.

The thought crossed my mind, and once or twice I even considered it - but not him. He had more courage to his convictions than I'll ever hope to hold. I'm proud of him for that. Proud to call him friend. He did - had - what I did not.

People call me a hero.

And… once… I guess I did too.

I'm the one who saves the world, rescues the girl, stops the bad-guy. That's me. My friends help. That's what they're there for after all. But I'm the real hero, right?

I'm the hero who couldn't save him.

You grieve, I can see it. I grieve too. I grieve because he was my friend. Because he's gone, and because nothing can bring him back - and because I couldn't save him. So, I grieve too.

I've heard that grief passes - with time.

I also heard it once somewhere - I can't remember where - that the only difference between a hero and a coward, is that a coward gives into his fear, whereas a hero overcomes it.

For me. Johnny Lightfoot is that hero.

And that's how I'll remember him."

Short and sweet, she supposed. Perhaps a little abrupt, but then, Sonic was never one to mince words. Even for a eulogy… And they were kind words. They were truth. More true than she had ever heard Sonic speak to a group of people. Unusual for Sonic. Not that he was unable to speak them. He was, apparently. Now and then.

But that truth took courage.

Or maybe it was just the grief speaking…

Amy didn't know.

She shook her head, looked at the clock. Was surprised by the slowness of time. It was unusual for her, though it had always been a valid subject with him.

There were people gathered outside for the memorial. Perhaps that was why the funeral seemed so fresh to her mind…. The same group. She knew most of them, like Sonic had said. Some were his family, some just friends, and some were there to pay their respects to a Freedom Fighter that had died in the line of duty.

Littered on the table was an array of dark crumbs, she noticed, blending brown on brown. Porker must have made himself some toast earlier on that morning. There was a faint scent of marmalade hanging over everything, permeating the air of the room.

Sonic had always said it would take nothing short of a cataclysm to cause Porker to lose his appetite.

She didn't agree, but never said so.

Most of the time there was little point in arguing with Sonic.

There was a strange feeling in her stomach, there had been since she had woken, realized what day it was. She felt slightly sick, she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten, or wanted to. Everything in the last few days had been leading up to the event at hand. She did not want it - to be there. Being there, being a part of it, made it real. Made him gone. She didn't want him gone.

She brushed the crumbs aside, onto the floor, and tilted her head forward. The smooth wood felt cool against her cheek. She sat completely still, allowing her eyes to unfocus. It seemed easier that way, easier than seeing the counter, or the people outside, waiting, for her. For Sonic. For the funeral to begin.

Her face felt damp.

She didn't know when he came in; there was no sound from the hedgehog, no announcement of his presence. Just a subdued silence that Amy didn't even notice.

It was when her eyes refocused, that she saw him. The back door was ajar, and he was just standing there, spines ruffled by the wind, looking rather haphazard for once, green eyes - they'd stayed that way after Chaos - gone wide and dark. She couldn't remember hearing him knock. But then, it was Sonic. So he probably didn't.

"Hey," he said, simply, not coming in. Just standing there.

So Amy got up instead, and unspeaking, they moved out the back, sitting side by side on the steps. The people to the front waited. Sonic and Amy let them. She shivered against the sudden cold of the gust, suddenly understanding the reason for Sonic's wind-tossed look. She shivered again, her feet cold against the stone, and looked down. She was barefoot. No gloves on either.

She should have been getting ready. Amy wasn't sure where the time had gone. The morning had passed in a hazy blur, waking in the house that had been his, moving, talking, joking even. Waiting. And not really doing anything beyond that. Just waiting… She should have used that time to be getting ready. Then she blinked and realized that Sonic was talking; that he had been for some time.

"I walked over here by Metropolis," Sonic was saying. "I don't know why I took that way, what I wanted to find. I saw a guy walking ahead of me on the street and I thought, Johnny… And he turned, for whatever reason… Of course it wasn't him. Just some guy on the street who didn't even look like him."

He stopped. She saw his jaw harden. It wasn't like him, she knew. It wasn't like Sonic at all.

"He's gone. The body at the- It's not him anymore. There is no more Johnny in the world. He's just… gone."

Sonic paused to take a breath. Amy felt her arm more forward, of its own accord; she felt herself press her finger to Sonic's still moving lips until he fell silent.

She closed her eyes. Told herself to breathe. The air felt too heavy.

She could feel Sonic take hold of her wrist; lift her hand gently away from his face. Could feel, when Sonic twined his fingers through her own, her hand clenching hard enough that it was probably hurting her friend.

Friend…

Friend..?

Sonic..?

She tightened her grip, knew it must hurt him, but couldn't bring herself to stop. Sonic wasn't complaining though. Didn't make a sound.

She opened her eyes. There were still automobiles of all sorts, passing in quiet rushes through the street beyond the green. There were still birds in the trees, in the sky. A couple was walking across the road, rabbit and cat, gesturing in such a way that she could tell they were probably arguing. She watched them as they walked. The way the wind caught the long skirt of the girl's red dress, faint sunlight glinting off the fabric. Velvet. Probably velvet. She couldn't be sure, with the distance between them. It looked like velvet though.

It was funny, almost. There was no difference at all. No sweeping drama beyond those uncertain instants after Johnny's sudden death. Nothing had changed in the world. There was no great silent standstill, no raging metaphoric storms. There was no accompanying musical score, mapping loss in precisely-chosen notes and words. There was just the world; existing as though nothing had happened.

Death looked better in the movies, or in books, Amy noted.

Sonic opened his mouth, as if to speak again. He hadn't let go of Amy's hand.

"I know what you're going to tell me," Amy said suddenly, "It's going to get better. Life will go on, right?"

A young hedgehog rode by on a green bicycle. She glanced at them briefly before turning away, vanishing down the road.

"Life always goes on," she heard Sonic mutter.

There were no clouds in the sky.

Hanging on the porch was a silver wind-chime, tinkling gently in the slowing breeze. The chairs set in the lawn remained unused. They were covered in white, peeling paint. The lawn itself was slightly unkempt.

Amy had seen these things before, many times, when she had visited Johnny's home in the past. Most of her life really. She had never really noticed them before. She wanted for that single moment to take a photograph. A portable memorial. Something static, set in time, not moving. Not constant.

She didn't have a camera.

"My watch is still running," she said instead.

Sonic eyed her for a moment, then held his wrists aloft, pulling the sleeve of one glove, then the other, back. No watch. Made sense. It was Sonic.

Amy watched him lower his hands again. Then she took her watch off, set it on the ground. She couldn't seem to make her eyes stay focused. There was a red stain on the back of one of Sonic's gloves. It was spreading and seeping through one of the crescent-moon indentations her ungloved hands must have branded across his knuckles. Darkening the cotton white. Amy watched as it spread, slow-motion, a stain on pristine pureness.

There had been no blood for Johnny's death.

A simple broken neck.

That was all.

Time passed. It felt almost physical, the slow drag.

More time passed, and eventually, they went inside. Sonic shut the door loudly as was his custom, and the sound echoed, too loud in the iced quiet of the house before he flushed slightly and stopped. Stood still again. Amy cast him a backward look.

"Shh!" she hissed on automatic, "You know that Johnny-"

She stopped.

Johnny had always hated when Sonic did that, the house was old, well looked after yes, but not to be banged about, he had said. She had forgotten, slipped into reflex mode, even after all the time that had passed. She wondered idly how many times she would end up doing that before she would stop.

The others seemed to have gotten past that…

"Amy- It's okay…" Sonic was whispering again, holding her up, supporting her swaying form. There wasn't enough oxygen.

"I'll never see him again, you know…" she said to herself. She gave a slight chuckle. It sounded brittle to her.

"And I don't know whether to laugh because I was his friend, or cry because that's all I'll ever be now…"

The clock on the wall behind Sonic's head read at seven-past-five. She didn't know where the time had gone.

"He was there, reaching for the connection… and he saved us, he did it… and everything was all right… And now I'll never see him again."

She could feel herself convulse, could feel Sonic's body shuddering in echo with her own.

"Shhhh," Sonic was murmuring comforting nonsense again, "It's okay" and "It'll be alright."

It wasn't like him at all. Not at all….

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Amy felt her vision going dark, realized after a moment that it was Sonic's fur, pressed into her face as she leaned against him, brushing against her eyelids like rough feathers. Her face was buried against his shoulder, she could smell him. Sonic smelled like outdoors, like trees and rain and earth.

"Upstairs," she heard him mutter, "We're going upstairs. Now."

He said it too low for anyone to hear. She heard him though, only her. There was no-one else after all. Amy closed her eyes, let Sonic lead her up the stairs. She reached out a hand to feel the way, could feel the odd cold of the wooden walls dragging across her fingertips and the short brittle lengths of her nails, could feel it all through her.

They reached the door, and Sonic shut it behind them - lightly - one hand tight on her shoulder.

"I've got you," he said, voice thick, nearly raw.

And at that, Amy could feel the giddiness burst through again, feel herself trying to laugh, could feel it sticking in her throat. She couldn't breathe. There was no air.

Sonic was pulling her forward, turning and pushing her down to sit on the bed. She heard faintly what he was saying, something that almost sounded close to "I love you," but then, it was the grief again, and she was always imagining he said that. Even at that strangest of times. His hands, warm though the gloves, were pressed up against her shoulders, their callused roughness evident even through the thin fabrics of shirt and gloves.

He was speaking again, muttering under his breath, more like a mantra than a command.

"Be okay. Be okay."

"It's going to rain soon," Amy heard herself saying.

She could taste the ozone of old city fumes on her tongue, could see the wild worry in Sonic's eyes, green and soft as emeralds. She felt as though she could trace constellations on the bumps and whorls in the wood ceiling if she stared hard enough. Sonic gathered her in his arms, turned her, and pressed his hands to her heart, pressed her up close enough that she could feel the beat of Sonic's own heart against her own.

In another lifetime, another place, the cobalt hedgehog would never have thought to do this. Would have been the one to pull away, uncomfortable and unsure of the propriety of this, of lying curled close beside this girl on a bed, who was even now murmuring in his ear, like a thing gone mad. Afraid of his image, though there were none to witness.

In this one, Sonic held Amy, as she couldn't think, didn't move, could only breathe and stare into the increasing darkness of the room. The heart cupped in her friends hands felt like lead through fur.

"It's eating me alive," she murmured suddenly.

"It won't eat you," Sonic was whispering back. "I won't let it," and his voice was fierce, powerful in the same way that his voice sounded when he was fighting an enemy, with a strength that could be anger. "I'll stay. The memorial - you'll go. I'll go with you. We'll both go. Then I'll stay. If you want."

"What about after…?" Amy asked. She felt stupid; she couldn't keep Sonic there because she was being a baby.

"Don't think about it," Sonic said. There was almost a snarl in his voice. "I'll stay until you don't need me to anymore."

The room stayed silent for a while. Then it slipped out, without warning or her permission:

"What if that never happens?"

Sonic held her tighter, silent. He didn't need to say anything at all; Amy knew what the answer would be. She closed her eyes, let her mind drift.. She listened to their heartbeats, pounding together, barely separate, weaving a secret rhythm of their own.

The people waited outside. Outside, the cars were still speeding through darkened streets, their drivers caught unaware in their own worlds. Outside, the rain began to fall down, umbrellas going up in accordance to the rough patter of water, almost forming the words to the song of mourning she had wanted earlier.

It didn't change anything.

Nothing at all.

*** *** ***

~FINI~

*** *** ***

Another strange ending, I know. Abstract too, I also know. And OCC? Yes, don't remind me. My only excuse is that grief can do that to people.

Sad?

I hope so.

I liked Johnny.

I feel like there's more I should say here, like something meaningful about death, but to be honest, there isn't anything I can think of.

Death is dead - it's the final leveler of all things. And that people take life for granted, themselves and others. You never know when it could all change. It could.

And the saddest thing to be seen are tears shed for words left unsaid by gravestones who can't hear or cry with you.

On a side note - a brighter note - I think; this is rather unfinished, and I'm not sure about it. I could come down and get changed…

Mainly Sonic and Amy interaction; this is because they were both part of that sort of love-triangle-ish-thing… You STC-shippers know about this, right? Sonic - Amy Rose who was nuts about Sonic - and Johnny Lightfoot who carried a torch for Amy.

We were never told if she knew or not. Later in the comic she seemed a bright enough sort, smart enough to figure it out anyway…

At least, she knew, in this fic….

So there you go. ^_^

Until whenever, take care of yourselves.

Orin. (Still mourning the death of STC.)