Chapter Text
Stone could pinpoint the exact instant it ended.
It happened somewhere between the livestream flickering off and the explosion cracking open the dark sky. A pain, sharp and shooting, stabbed through Stone’s chest in that moment, and he knew. Just as he’d known he’d come back from the mushroom planet, just as he’d known he’d recover from his injuries in the Crab, he knew–
Ivo Robotnik was dead.
…Staring into the explosion hours after the crowd had cleared, he realized the pain had subsided. His eyes were still wet, hands still shaking, but inside he felt… well, nothing. Numb.
He whispered a goodbye into the night, hoping that would elicit some sort of reaction. He didn’t deserve the anesthetic of dissociation, he’d failed the doctor, this was all his fault, it should have been him up there, going out in a blaze of glory…
But picking at emotional scabs did nothing to stir Stone’s heart. He felt nothing. Nothing, except grim inevitability.
At some point, he’d begun to walk. He only realized this when he stopped, confronted by the sight of the capsized crab in the Thames. Stone allowed his eyes to drift downward, to the churning ink-black river. Memories of desperately clawing his way out of the Crab and to the shore of the river flooded his brain, and for a moment he could almost taste the sour water and adrenaline that had fueled his escape.
He had been terrified then.
…He wasn’t anymore.
No, now he felt almost mesmerized by the flowing river below him. The waves rose and subsided, almost like breathing… it had a calming effect.
Stone took another step forward.
Distantly, alarm bells began to ring in the back of his mind. This isn’t right. This isn’t what he wants. This isn’t what he wanted…
And yet Stone continued towards the edge of the river, the siren song of sloshing water beckoning him further. Soon, it was the only thing he could hear.
Stone only vaguely recognized what was about to happen. He considered, briefly, leaving a note of some kind, but drew a blank when he tried to imagine who would read it. Or what he would say, besides… well. That his work in this world was done.
That it was time to move on–
Stone didn’t even realize he’d jumped until he hit the water’s surface. It was shockingly easy not to struggle, even as his nose and mouth flooded and his lungs began to burn. At least now it was hurting, somehow.
It was a punishment he deserved, after all, for failing. He’d surely remember, internalize, and do better next time.
…Wait.
What?
Before he could comprehend the thought that slipped into his head, Stone saw a flash of purple at the corners of his vision.
And then it was over.
~
The moon loomed large in the sky, illuminating the grassy plains around him in a soft violet glow.
Stone found this odd for a number of reasons. For one thing, the moon wasn’t supposed to be purple; for another, he’d seen the Eclipse Cannon cleave a chunk of the moon clean off, but the thing in the sky was perfectly round.
Perhaps the strangest thing about Stone’s current situation, though, was that he swore he remembered drowning himself in the Thames river only a few moments prior.
It hadn’t been a dream, it couldn’t have been. Stone could still taste the sour water in his mouth, feel the ache in his lungs as he struggled to hold his final breath. And yet, the smell of grass and flowers surrounded him, and a warm summer breeze was drying out his still-wet suit. Also, and he couldn’t stress this enough, the moon was fucking purple.
…Or maybe this was the dream, a random output of sensations summoned by a dying brain. That was a coherent and logical notion to latch onto, if a bit depressing. Stone was slightly disappointed he was imagining something so meaningless; it would have been more satisfying to be greeted with his childhood home, or perhaps the cozy interior of the Crab— hell, even the Mean Bean would have struck more of a chord than a random field in the middle of nowhere.
Though, as he plucked a yellow flower from the grass and twirled it between his fingers, he had to give himself points for realism. “It certainly doesn’t feel like I’m dying,” he said, mostly to hear the sound of his own voice break the suffocating silence.
“Oh, you aren’t dying.”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, echoing and reverbing in a strangely harmonious chorus. Stone flinched in shock, dropping his flower and looking around uselessly. All he could see was a seemingly endless expanse of rolling hills under a starless sky.
“That is to say… You’re already dead, Aban,” the voice clarified.
A chill shivered down Stone’s spine when the voice said his name. He was suddenly much less certain that this was a hallucination. Still looking around wildly, he blurted, “Who’s there? Where are you?”
“I have many epithets, but the one I prefer most is The End. As for where I am… You may want to look up.”
Stone lifted his head towards the sky. It was a stygian void, missing any clouds or stars. The only visible light up there came from…
…The moon.
“There we are,” The End spoke, its voice perfectly in sync with the pulsing red light that emanated from the moon. “It is good to see you again, you know.”
Stone blinked, attempting to come up with a coherent question amidst the avalanche of confusion. “…What?” He eventually managed.
“I know this is very confusing for you.” The End spoke slowly, as though addressing a small child. “If you’d like, I can begin to reintegrate some of your previous lives, but–”
“This is some sort of afterlife?” Stone interrupted as his mind quickly caught up.
“... In a certain sense,” The End snipped.
“Right. Okay. So,” Stone inhaled, “I’ll admit I don’t really care about the exact mechanics of how this all works, or any of my past lives, or whatever other cryptic existential bullshit awaits me here. What I’d like to know is–”
“Where is Ivo Robotnik?”
The certainty with which Stone was cut off gave him pause.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, you only ask that every single time.” The End’s voice dripped with sarcasm, before smoothing back into its more pleasant tone. “But I understand this is a lot to take in. After all, this still feels like your first time…”
“What did I just say about cryptic existential bullshit?” Stone hissed. “If I’m dead and I’m still here, then that must mean– it must mean–”
“Oh, must it?” The End said, amused. “How perfectly presumptuous.”
Stone glared into the sky, fists curled at his sides so tightly that he could feel his nails carving indents into his palms. “Where is he, then?”
“In this universe? Gone for good, I’m afraid. He wasn’t like you, Aban. You’re a special case—”
Stone actually laughed at that, brief and biting. “No, no. If anyone was special, it was him. He’s the smartest man to ever exist, he— he saved the world, for fuck’s sake! What could possibly be special about me that isn’t him?”
“Your loyalty. Your love.” The End sighed. “Even now, hundreds of rounds into our little game, it burns just as bright as when we started… it’s adorable.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Stone growled, “But this isn’t a game.”
“Mmm, what would you call it, then? A bet? A Faustian bargain? A creative new method of torture? Because, as I’ve said before and I’m sure I’ll say again— there is no happiness waiting for you with him.”
“Stop!” Stone suddenly shouted. “Just— stop, okay? Why do you keep acting like all this has happened before?”
“Ah, now you’re on to the important questions. Truthfully, this has happened before— one-hundred and seventeen times, but who’s counting?” The End giggled. “But I know it’s a lot to take in, it always is.”
Something heavy had settled into Stone’s gut, something close to horror. “…What do you mean? What do you want with me?”
“I think,” mused The End, “It will be much easier if I show you.”
And without warning, the moon above flashed with pure white light, and everything burned away, until all that was left was the bright and the soft and the sound of his own breathing.
And then, a voice he thought he’d never hear again: “Stone?”