Archive of Our Own

Stone truly believed Robotnik was magnificent no matter what form he took. The lean scientist, the chaos god, and now the armchair streamer—he never stopped taking Stone’s breath away.

Before he met Robotnik, he wouldn’t have thought it possible to love someone so unconditionally. Surely there had to be a limit to what a human heart could hold, a limit to how much a person could change before the love changed, too.

So to say that he was delighted when the doctor had showed him the blueprints for the Crab would be an understatement, because as soon as he noticed the little room given the simple label ‘Stone’s’, he fell in love all over again. The doctor didn’t ask him, didn’t say anything; he just assumed Stone would be with him, and that was the greatest gift he could ever give.

Each morning started the same. He woke up as soon as the artificial lighting inside his room started to indicate the sun was rising outside, made his bed, and picked out one of his identical black suits before setting about the task of making a breakfast burrito for the doctor.

He was partway through scrambling the eggs when he realized something was off—the smell was making his stomach twist uncomfortably. He frowned and tried to focus on his task; he could eat after the doctor was taken care of.

When he started on the bacon, the pit of his stomach tightened and he recognized it not as hunger, but nausea. He frowned down at the sizzling meat. Perhaps he was just so hungry it had tipped over into feeling nauseated.

Whatever the case, he had work to do. He just tried to shallow his breathing to take in as little of the smells as possible so he could focus on finishing the doctor’s breakfast. He plated it with a drizzle of ketchup in the design of two interlocked hearts, then let it cool while he poured the coffee.

“Breakfast is ready, Doctor,” he said quietly, bringing the plate and mug over to the chair where the doctor was still sleeping.

“Mm?” Robotnik opened his mouth in a wide yawn and moved one hand to scratch at his belly, stretching his legs and arching his back, before his head lolled to the side to look at the plate offered to him. “It’s about time. I’m starving.”

Stone smiled as the doctor snatched up the burrito and took a large bite. It soothed his heart to see the man eat his food, to care for him in this way. He set the cup of coffee on the arm of the chair and backed away to return to the kitchen so he could clean up.

On the way, he stopped to bend over and pick up a discarded shirt, and as he straightened up, something went wrong. His vision narrowed in to a small point in a sea of black, his head felt like it grew two sizes and shrunk three at the same time, and the nerves along his arms down to his fingers went numb.

A dizzy spell. Nausea and a dizzy spell. Oh, god, no.

He was sick.

His heart started to race while his vision slowly cleared and feeling returned to his arms. How could he be sick? He only briefly left the Crab to get groceries. Could he have picked something up in that short amount of time?

And more importantly, was he contagious? He turned his head to look at the doctor, the pounding of his heart loud in his ears, and started to put more distance between them.

It would be fine. He would just limit their contact and keep to himself. The doctor probably wouldn’t even notice, anyway.

The next symptom to emerge was a scratchiness to his throat, followed by a pain behind his eyes. He had to stop in the middle of preparing the doctor’s lunch so he could just stand there and breathe through the pain, each movement of air on his throat bringing a new burst of it.

There was too much to do. The doctor needed him to do his job; after all, that was the only real reason he’d included Stone in his Crab design. Because he was useful. Because he cooked and cleaned and took care of whatever need arose.

If he wasn’t useful, he had no place here.

So he kept moving forward in spite of the sludge that felt like was growing inside him. He stood at the far end of the main living space with his phone so he could moderate the livestream and provide as many likes as his tired fingers could provide.

“Stone!” Robotnik yelled from his chair. “The Egg Heads are requesting to see you for some unfathomable reason.”

He froze. If he didn’t breathe, then he wouldn’t spread the germs, right? He hoped that would be the case as he slowly walked closer, into the field of view of the little floating orb that was recording the doctor’s stream.

The chat exploded with the usual comments—among them, malewife goals made him flush more than he already felt. The doctor just rolled his eyes and waved a hand to dismiss him, and he hurried to back away.

His eyes lowered to his phone, where a copy of the chat was playing out, and his heart stuttered.

larosemafija: is stone ok? he looks kinda pale

antisociallollipop: malewife no!!

virtualxrose: I volunteer as tribute to tuck him into bed ;)

“What’s all this?” Robotnik said, leaning forward in his chair to squint at the messages scrolling past, then turning at the waist to look over his shoulder and scoffed. “Stone doesn’t look any different from normal. He’s usually pale and sweaty.”

There was a pause. The chat continued to move, but Robotnik and Stone were frozen in place, staring at each other, realization dawning on the doctor’s face.

“Stone,” he said, lips twisting into a frown, “are you sick?”

Stone had never lied to the doctor before, and he didn’t want to start now—neither did he want to admit the truth, admit that he was just a weak and feeble human who was susceptible to viruses.

All he could do was lower his eyes in shame.

“And you didn’t think to tell me before you got your germs all over me?” Robotnik pushed himself up from his chair, livestream forgotten as he gestured wildly with both hands. “What if your carelessness got me sick? What then? Did you even consider that?”

“I did,” he replied, a bit weakly.

Robotnik froze, then lowered his hands to his sides. “Say that again.”

“I did.”

“You did what.”

“I—” His aching throat tried to close up on him. “I knew I was sick, and tried to hide it.”

“No.” Robotnik took a step forward, then stopped and returned back to where he was standing. “Grab the front of your shirt.”

Stone hurried to comply, gathering the black material in a fist and tugging on it to pull his shirt tight around him.

“What you did was put me at risk because of your useless human pride.” Robotnik tightened his fist at his side, and Stone pulled harder on his own shirt. “I should have just made a badnik to do your job. It wouldn’t have your flaws. Now shove yourself away and get out of my sight.”

Tears pricked at Stone’s eyes as he pushed on his own chest and let go of his shirt. He didn’t say anything as he bowed at the waist and hurried away like the wounded animal he was, closed the door to his room and dropped down onto the bed with a strangled whimper in his throat.

He had failed, and the doctor didn’t tolerate failure. He would be replaced and cast aside and then what? What was his life without serving the doctor? Who was he without him?

Everything hurt. His eyes were being stabbed from the inside, his throat was sandpaper, and there was cotton in his skull. But worst of all was the pain in his chest as he replayed the doctor’s words over and over in his mind.

He was so exhausted, so worn out, so run down that he fell into a fitful sleep almost instantly, his dreams filled with images of badniks making burritos better than he ever could.

The sound of something landing heavily near his head jolted him awake, and his eyes opened to the sight of a bowl sitting on the nightstand, steam curling up into the air. He blinked and pushed himself upright, eyes lifting higher to see—

The doctor standing there, frowning down at him.

“Save your gratitude,” he growled. “The Egg Heads demanded I attend to you or they’d pull their subscriptions. Something about toxic y-ay-oh-eye whatnot.”

And with that, he stormed off, leaving Stone alone with—an actual, physical gift. A part of him didn’t want to eat it, wanted to find some way to preserve it forever. But he also didn’t want it to go to waste, so he sat up and cradled the bowl to his chest, lifting the spoon to his lips to take a sip.

It was salty. Unbelievably salty. It made his tongue recoil in his mouth and his saliva dry up and he eagerly took another sip in spite of the discomfort. When he was finished and desperate for a glass of water, he curled back up on the bed and relished the warmth that sat low in his stomach as he drifted back to sleep.

This time, he dreamt that the doctor had fallen ill, and that he was trying to care for him but things kept going awry. The blue hedgehog showed up just as he finally got a wet cloth on the doctor’s forehead—

He blinked his eyes open as a wet droplet slid down his temple, just in time to watch the doctor’s hand withdraw after laying a cool cloth across his forehead, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was awake or still asleep.

“You have to get better immediately,” Robotnik said with a petulance to his tone. “It’s dinner time and I’m hungry.”

Stone started to sit up, but a large hand landed on the center of his chest and roughly pushed him back down.

“You can’t seriously intend to infect me by touching my food while you’re still sick.” Robotnik scowled down at him. “Do you want me to fire you?”

“No, of course not,” Stone whimpered. “But if I don’t cook—”

“I’ll just…” Robotnik waved a hand, and a holographic display of nearby restaurants appeared in front of him. “Order in.”

He was being replaced already. He blinked back his tears as he settled onto the pillow, rolling over to put his back to the doctor. “All right.”

“What do you want?”

His head turned to look over his shoulder as he blinked. “Sir?”

“You need to eat if you’re going to fight this off and get back to work.” Robotnik didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on the restaurants he was scrolling through with his fingertips swiping in the air. “Rice?”

Stone just nodded dumbly, not sure how else to respond. It felt dangerously like being taken care of, and he didn’t dare want to let that thought settle in his mind where it might feel too good.

As the doctor muttered to himself while placing an order, he turned away to stride out of the room—then paused at the doorway.

“Stone,” he said without looking back at him.

“Yes, Doctor?”

There was a pause, Robotnik’s hand on the doorframe, fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm before he spoke again.

“In the future, if you feel unwell, I expect you to say something sooner.”

Warmth coiled through Stone’s chest, intertwining with his ribs and wrapping around his heart.

“Because,” Robotnik continued, “the badniks can’t replicate your coffee, and you know how I get without my java.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Stone said, turning his face into the pillow to hide his smile. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Try to do better at there not being a next time at all.” Robotnik’s hand fell back to his side. “I hate being reminded of your humanity.”

Stone watched him leave, still smiling, still giddy with the thought that he wasn’t replaceable, that he served some purpose that no one and nothing else could.