The Rusted Memoir, a sonic the hedgehog fanfic

A piece that was first conceptualized and started in the summer of 2007 then finished in the summer 2009. Based in the broad SEGA sub-category of Sonic fandoms, I'd say somewhere in the timeline between Sonic Genesis Oldies and Sonic Adventure, but certainly nothing beyond that. I also incorporated my own yearnings to fly. I've been enrolled in Brouilette Aviator's Training program (BAT) and so in that sense, I have that small part of Tails inside me too…

Pause for Disclaimer--

This literary work of fanfiction belongs to its author and may not be used for profit without the notified permission of the specified author. The characters, settings, references and given background mentioned, and, or depicted, aside from the happenings of the plot itself, is the property of the following- Archie Comics, SEGA Corporation and DiC Productions and any other organizations not mentioned in these listings possessing ownership of property that is related to Sonic the Hedgehog. All other terms stated in Title 17 of the U.S. Code concerning copyright laws apply.

- - -

July, 1:03 PM…

Speeds at an easy 122 knots.

Cruising altitude at a level flight.. 7,000ft MSL.

Conditions are stable.

..Peace…

It is the most exhilarating feeling in the world… to be floating amidst clouds, on open air, on a whispering slipstream, in a mechanical bird rocking steadily in the wind currents, in a world overhead, an ocean of cerulean blue, glittering in the sun, an open space of infinity.

There is a sense of relief in being elevated over troubles, over cares, that there is something above and beyond the efficient, humdrum existence of day-to-day life, that there is something to aspire to. Something above and beyond.

To fly.

To Tails, the skies have been his retreat, his dreams.
They are his home. His peace.

Everything is calm. Everything is ready. He is ready.

To see with an omniscient eye..

Determination blazes inside him.

…the viewpoint of a god…

Tails, unaffected by the strains of g-force starts in climbing his ascent.

…to be something invincible and free…

He pulls at the control yoke, increasing altitude, winds pick up.

…to bend boundaries to breaking point…

He adjusts the throttle, increasing power.

…so that borders and horizons blur into nothingness…

Turbulence rocks him unsteady..

..and coalesce into one..

..increasing power to full-throttle..

..to be paralleled with the heavens..

..sirens wail, the slipstream shrieks…

..the earthly ties that bind..

..there is the sharp scent of smoke…

..are suddenly undone…

..the low groan of warping metal.. the air thins out..

..and he is left untied and boundless..

..plunging into a nose-dive.

...and free…

to be eye-to-eye with the sun…

Tails blinks into the harsh brilliance of the unblinking sun…

- - -

Blinking into the harsh brilliance of the unblinking sun, Sonic scopes the skies for Tails' landing.

On a clear, cloudless day, the Whirlwind's new azure metal-plating glints in the sunlight, sharp as a needle spearing the ocean of air. The sleek new supersonic jet spirals and soars in a sky show. It sidles into an angle and arcs swiftly over Sonic standing at the cliff's edge, whipping up gusts of air and dust.

The young pilot, a fox just twelve years old, pokes his scruffy head over the cockpit, sporting goggles and a leather cap, bundled up in a beaten, furred brown leather jacket, giving him the awkward appearance of being dressed in garb much too big for him. He beams confidently and waves down to his best friend.

Sonic, shading his gleaming emerald eyes with a hand, cracks a grin, signaling back.

- - -

Tails descends into an easy landing. The winds are balmy and calm, tinged in brine from the restless thundering tide below the high crags of the seaside cliff. The Mystic Ruins are lush and verdant at the height of summer. Exotic jitterings and calls resonate from the depths of the jungle.

It has been two weeks since the accident. The young, earnest pilot has since regained his strength to return to his work, but he now walks with a slight limp in his step and his two tails bound in fresh linen bandages daily, drag in the dirt behind him. Sonic, the notorious blue speedster has left his usual adventures to undertake nursing his younger sidekick back to health. Taking on the role as best friend and legal guardian to the young fox, the hedgehog never leaves his side.

Sonic calls his most recent nickname out to him good-humoredly, "Hey there, Gimpy!"

Tails smiles slightly, struggling to step out from the cockpit. The smile flickers uncertainly in his eyes, coupled with a meek, unspoken plea. The pain is taxing on the small fox.

"I gotcha, buddy!" Sonic offers a hand, letting the small fox use his shoulder to steady himself.

As the Whirlwind's cylinders hush, peace and quiet resettles over the landstrip by Tails' workshop. Chattering birds and the tinkling of wind chimes that hang from the upper deck sound in the stillness.

"So, we good for today?" Sonic asks, looping an arm under Tails shoulders.

"Yeah.." the small fox replies halfheartedly, throwing an arm over Sonic's neck to prop himself up. "But maneuverability still overshadows its speed. I need to revise the design to incorporate leading-span flaps to work in conjunction with the trailing-edge flaps. Dual controls and a display panel with mapping capabilities all have to be installed for the second seat. And missile radar detection on the left side is weak…"

Sonic smiles, "Heh.. y'know, bud, you can only do so much."

Tails returns the smile dimly as the easy-going hedgehog ruffles his tousled, windswept bangs, but the young pilot's train of thought continues uninterrupted.

They make towards Tails' workshop- a small two-story house situated on the cliffs at the edge of the Mystic Ruins facing the sea. The sharp outcropping of terrain frames a long runway lined in paralleling rows of palm trees leading out into the ocean and the open air.

Two weeks ago, Tails had taken up the Raider biplane down that very same runway, powered by a single chaos emerald. Before he crashed, they said he reached a record mark of fifty-thousand feet, unprecedented in the history of the Raider's model type.

50,000 feet! Tails muses, marveling at the untamable potency of the chaos emeralds. He can remember the flight vividly: the howling slipstream, the frigid cold, whisking in clouds, the world out of focus, the chaos energy thrumming through the engine, and then systems collapsing, overloading from the sheer intensity of a single fist-sized gem…

Before taking off, he well understood the risks of tampering with the harness of chaos energy. He knew the consequences, the possible catastrophic results.

But he was ambitious, eager, and curious, his greatest flaw. That, and his inclination for daring, sometimes dangerous endeavors only strengthened his resolve. In those moments, he had experienced something like to his greatest accomplishment. And he had survived, in the end.

It was only a matter of time before trying again.

- - -

The two face the ocean, leaning over the rickety railing at the cliff's edge. Sonic looks down in his glass, to see glittering, crystal-clear ice cubes crowding the top. "Ahh, c'mon, Tails…" he exhales crossly. "Do you have to put ice in everything?"

The young fox looks up from his own cupped hands."Whaddaya mean?"

"I frickin' hate ice in my juice.." Sonic spits, dumping the top over the rusted railing. "Get's rid of the flavor- makes it all watery."

The young fox rolls his eyes slightly and shakes his head in resigned exasperation, having dealt with his best friend's unruly mannerisms for years. Still taking polite sips to his own drink, he saunters over to the base of the runway where Raider is parked and the roll-up metal grate to the shop is open. He observes it reminiscently, smelling the fresh salt water in off the warm sea winds, listening to the mechanized turbine pump in the pool, the odd clunking and tinkling of rusted metal pipe chimes tied to the rooftop, treetops swaying and sighing in the breeze. The Tornado: reworked and modified through the years as the oldest plane shared by the two, is now a sharp-nosed fighter. Cyclops sits perched on the hydraulic lift for minor repairs and above it is Whirlwind: a sleek, new bird with a metallic blue shine.

Parked at the runway's edge, half-balanced between the asphalt safety of the runway, the mottled, untamed patches of grasses on the grounds, and the jagged rocky jaws of the coast below is the Ole Biplane. The Ole Biplane has become nothing more than a rusted heap of rubbish. The tarnished debris sits perched over the cliff, but stands as if mustering all the dignity it possesses by standing erect before it falls into a desperate collapse.

The two of them had had their most memorable adventures on this plane. They had driven it across the dry expanse of deserts and over tumultuous seas, to vacation spots on West Side Island, to the Floating Island suspended over tropical seas. They had crash landed too, too many times maybe. He could have taken the biplane apart and used the efficient parts for more practical use. But the model was far too outdated by now and the deadly crash fire those some odd years ago had melted most of the salvageable parts anyway. He had been a young, earnest, but beginner pilot and that day he had been terrified. He could remember the perspiration beading his head turn cold, the heavy July summer heat, the fire, the smoke obscuring his view, shrieking sirens, Sonic shouting...

But he couldn't let it go.

Maybe he just should have let it go like Sonic had said so many times. It would have been easy enough just to push it into the sea to an ocean grave.

But maybe he just couldn't let it go, that collage of memories. Maybe because he had been the one to bolt the nuts and meld the orange metallic plates together. Maybe because he had taken his first flight in it. Maybe because his first crash landing ended up right smack in the middle of Sonic's running route through the jungle. Maybe because the memories themselves had melded into the tarnished ruins and the years could not be scraped off with the rust.

The pilot studies the dead plane, the rusted, dirtied metal paneling, the smoke stains, stains of the reminiscent orange beneath the rust. He considers with quiet reverence: the Ole Biplane in its death and its life. He hears the blue hedgehog come up behind him and give a short derisive snicker, swinging the hand that is clutching his sweating glass, still clinking sharply with ice.

"Pssh.. that heap of junk? You oughta toss it off the cliff, Tails. All its doing is takin' up space out here."

"Yeah.. I guess..." Tails feels a tad hurt at Sonic's so slack willingness to let their rusted memoir go. "I've thought about it."

- - -

He had thought about it. The small fox, bundled up in his favorite brown leather aviator's jacket, the one with the ragged furred collar and much too big for him, stood idly at the shoreline facing the creeping tide along the white sands, intently watching where the biplanes and monoplanes of his everyday dreams could be seen tilt-a-whirling on axis in the cloud-spotted cerulean blue over the seas.

He kept his body tightly bundled in the crumpled leather jacket, a deformity of two tails tucked behind him. For this, to be the butt of name-calling, to be prodded and poked fun at and made a joke for everyone on the Island, on West Side Island where oddities like himself were never welcomed..

But not anymore.

He had constructed an aircraft of his own, had composed the schematics, given them structure, assembled and pieced together every bit of scrap metal needed, and erected his creation on the sands of the jungle by his hut secluded on the outskirts of the coastline.

He nicknamed it the Ole Biplane.

He could not remember his parents. He figured that this was for the best; if they had not been there to defend him and protect him from these years of hurt and isolation, to explain these things to him that seemed so unjust then there had to have been some justifiable reason.

He hoped so, anyway.

Two things he knew for sure…

He knew his name- Miles Prower.

He knew he had to escape from here.

He did so in his dreams. Miles dreamed about the pilots flying the airfield on the Island, of being one himself. He hung their models from his ceiling and gazed at them bundled up in bed, sleepy-eyed. They dangled overhead before going to sleep. They somersaulted in the dark. In his drowsy dreamscape he dreamed of biplanes careening in air.

A small scrap of identity. A safeguard.

He clutched to it with a fierce protection.

It was all he needed- one bit he could model himself into, something to give his identity shape.

So he built. He worked and tinkered and modified and labored under the harsh tropical heat. The others watched from a safe distance, observing, curious.

The day he hammered in the final nuts and bolts, he could hear the snickering, the ridiculing chitchat from behind him in the bushes and the jungle overgrowth swallowing the beach. He knew they were there, he didn't need to turn to see; he knew. He ignored them as best he could, as he had countless times before, knowing he was about to put his work on the line, his dreams to the test.

He checked over his handiwork. The striated red and rust-orange metal bent and crookedly held together by huge nuts and bolts. The nose pointed like a yellow-jacket's stinger. Landing gear, wheels and struts, was pieced together from bicycle parts he scavenged from a junkyard. The internal engine, fuel tank and conjoining parts were assembled from junked vehicles. Two bright, bushy fox tails he had painted on the back fin and wings' edges. The "Ole Biplane" was painted yellow in untidy cursive along the main body.

Tail smiled to himself, feeling the pride and sense of achievement that comes from hard work.

He clambered into the open cockpit, giving himself the time to soak in the moment before preparing for liftoff.

He turned the key in the ignition.

Hearing the putt-putting of the propeller reeling into motion, the coughing engine before it roared to readiness was like the sound of resolution. He felt it creep over his skin, gratified.

He rolled down the beach.

But before long he could feel things were not going quite right. The engine gasped indecisively, the wheels swerved under wobbly struts, the throttle was sticking, he could hear the ailerons flapping in a way that should have made him feel anxious. He should have stopped the plane, gotten out, and inspected these setbacks, but these things could not be necessarily fixed and he had worked too hard, endured too much, tried time and time again, too many times for this moment to become the recurrent failure throughout his life. He had given in to setbacks too often.

He had to try.

He knew that if anything, even if the plane buckled underneath him and he fell into the sea, he promised himself and to the rest of the Island- that he had overcome everything he had endured.

He could fly.

It was enough to endure the cheeky laughter and snide comments. It was enough to endure heartache and isolation. It was enough to be confused and misguided, deformed and dejected.

Resolution burning inside of him like vindictive fire, he trekked on. The Ole Biplane sputtered and quaked under his feet, but he coaxed it on down the sands. They reached the cliff that jutted out into the sea where the Ole Biplane grinded in the sands to a halt. Together, the two faced the vast ocean, glittering sharply like sapphires in the sunlight. Waves thundered and shuddered over the rocks below.

Joined together, the young, hopeful pilot faltering at the controls and the biplane shaking eagerly, impatiently.

He realized he was sweating; the inside of his jacket was slightly damp.

He was gripping the throttle tight.

Tails, taking in a shaky breath and frowning in determination, positioned his goggles over his eyes before he gently depressed the rudder pedal, to move.

Those some odd fifteen seconds down the cliff, Tails was sure to fall. The engine roared desperately, propeller reeling til following its motion made him feel sick, landing wheels were whining like unsound metal, the fuselage groaning at its sides. The biplane veered off to the cliff's edge. He shoved down on the yoke, stomping the brake, plunging to a nose dive-

He clamped his eyes shut. Expecting…

For a single instant, the young fox couldn't be sure which end was up, he felt himself leveled in the air, weightless, directionless. Simply air itself.

Shaking, he peered one eye open, but he felt himself blinded by the intense white glare of sunlight.. off the water.. from the sky..?

Blinking furiously, intent to see past the light, glancing for recognizable shapes..

He saw nothing, only a wondrous shade of blue.

It was like opening his eyes to see underwater, opening to another world.

Blue... endless, flowing cerulean blue.

Clouds stuffed like pillows of cotton fluff billowed underneath.

The engine bellowed victoriously, winds sighing. Air was clean and cold.

Seagulls called from the shores below.

Leaning over the side, Tails could see West Side Island, the nestled green and flourishing jungle, in the sparkling seas.

The world was open.. and blue.. and wholesome… and.. for those few instances.. all his.

The Ole Biplane roared on.

The sun, simple emblem of glory, beamed down.

And Tails, realizing everything, realizing himself, taking everything in, beamed back.

He could be something.

Tails was a young, earnest pilot.

And for the first time in his young life, he felt what it meant to be free…

- - -

"I don't see how the hell I'm gonna do this.."

The gruff echidna gives a heavy, cross groan, grumbling to himself. Another growl and he plows his shoulder into the groaning metal, tackling the biplane ruins, fighting to heave it over the cliffs to the dark waters below. Ole Biplane refuses to budge.

Sonic who had enlisted his help in the first place, stands calm and blasé with arms crossed. Beside him is Tails, the repentant pilot standing some feet to the side, considering the plane reluctantly. Knuckles peers up into the piercing sunlight, panting gruffly through the haze of the summer heat. He is perspiring heavily. He glowers at Sonic, "You had to pick today to do this?"

"Might as well.." Sonic says, "and anyways, its not gonna get any cooler. There's no better day than today!" the blue hedgehog beams, white teeth shining though his own forehead shines with a light sweat.

Knuckles can only continue to grumble under his breath, mopping his furrowed brow with the back of his hand. He thrusts his shoulder into the biplane, hauls punches into it, leaving indentations where his spiked knuckles pierce through the metal. The scabbing rust flicks off like dead skin.

He grunts and heaves and plows into the Ole Biplane. Metal moans and rattles like dying pleas. But it refuses to die. Tails can hardly stand it.

- - -

Later that night, the fan is in its rotation over the ceiling, breathing cool air in the garage. Tails tinkers on theunderside of the Cyclone, loudly clanking wrenches and screwdrivers, just to make noise.

"Hey buddy!" Sonic calls over the noise, ambling into the workplace. "Look bud, I'm sorry about that. I didn't think it would've mattered to yah anymore. I mean, hey, you got plenty of more toys."

Tails glowers darkly under the shadowy underside of the hydroplane. Without resurfacing or pausing in his work, he gives the bolt he is tweaking an overzealous jerk.

"Its not a toy, Sonic," the pilot barks resentfully.

"Whatever." The slick, blue hedgehog shrugs and leans idly against the glossy, azure side of Cyclone, smirking. "C'mon buddy, come out from under there and talk to me."

Tails flattens his ears against the shrill, grating whine of an electrical drill in his hands, "I don't want to talk about it."

"C'mon Gimpy!" the hedgehog kids good-humoredly, oblivious to his smaller friend's growing irritation. "Don't be such a downer."

"Stop it, Sonic!"

Tails abruptly wheels out from under the Cyclone on his mechanic's creeper to stare Sonic square in the eyes, fur bristling and eyes glaring, "And stop calling me 'Gimpy.'" He shimmies back under on squeaky wheels, adding as a feeble afterthought, "I'm not gimpy…"

The hedgehog hero is slightly taken aback by this sudden outburst from his usually meek, soft-spoken sidekick. He manages to contort his face into an unsure smile. He chuckles uneasily, "Tails…"

"No, Sonic." The small pilot wheels out again and struggling slightly with his hurt leg, staggers up to his feet to meet Sonic's eye.

They stand face-to-face, the small sidekick staring resolutely up at the sleek blue idol, a full head taller than himself.

The small fox breathes heavily from the exertion, exasperated, his face tarnished black in oil and grime from mechanical work.

Sonic blinks and drops the smile. His flashing emerald green eyes harden and he regards his smaller friend concernedly.

"Its my plane, Sonic," Tails exhales. "It used to be our plane.."

Sonic, stationary, says nothing.

"All our adventures.." he rambles on, his mind reminiscing, "..on the South Islands? The Mystic Ruins? The Zones? The Floating Island? Chasing badniks, rescuing Amy, looking for Chaos Emeralds? Blowing up the Death Egg? Fighting Robotnik..?"

Sonic is silent.

Tails begins to calm down. "I know the crash did some serious damage, but I can fix it! I know I can. And I can get back up to piloting you in no time."

Sonic's eyes suddenly avert to the side apprehensively. "Tails…"

"Don't you even care anymore? Doesn't any of that mean anything to you?"

"Tails."

"Don't you think I can do it!?"

"Tails." Sonic nearly shouts, startling the fox into stunned silence. The blue hedgehog heaves a sigh and in it, his shoulders slouch. He eyes his small friend hesitantly.

"You can't expect to fly that plane anymore, buddy.."

"But it's the-"

"Tails."

The young fox is hushed.

Sonic's attitude is suddenly stern. His eyes, sharp. "Tails, you can't fly that plane anymore."

Tails' brows knit together in childlike confusion. Misunderstanding.

"That stunt you pulled two weeks ago… it really left you banged up."

An awkward silence settles over the garage and in the space between them. Only the hollow sound of the spinning fan overhead distills the air.

"Huh..?"

"Its your tails, bud."

Tails searches his hero's eyes frantically.

"Doc doesn't think you outta fly anymore."

To Tails, the thought doesn't immediately register. Then it hits him like a ton of bricks. The young pilot feels ready to collapse in on himself. His heart does flip-flops in his chest. He is reeling. The garage is reeling. His hurt leg totters unsteadily beneath him. His fingers are shaking.

For the first time since the accident, he notices the lack of sensation in his two bandaged tails. His twin deformity drags behind him. Dead and motionless.

He sniffles, his little frame shaking, trying to gulp down impending sobs.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Sonic consoles softly.

Tails, outraged, shoots a gaze of blame up at the hedgehog, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, "You never believed in me!" The small pilot races from the garage, barreling past Whirlwind, Cyclone, Raider, Tornado, and the full inventory of tools and gadgets and experimental contraptions lining the walls, his face grimacing. He feels like he is freefalling.

- - -

Tails was freefalling, clutching to the throttle between his legs, hearing the mechanized drone, "MAYDAY. MAYDAY." Sirens blared in his sensitive ears. Gusts of clouds and smoke obscured his vision. He couldn't breathe. The Ole Biplane was toppling downward at a heart-stopping 1,000 feet per minute from the skies, spinning out of control. His mind was reeling out of control.

"MAYDAY. MAYDAY."

The small fox clamped his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and braced himself for the crash-landing.

The biplane scraped by tree branches and squawking birds then collided with the ground in a thunderous, screeching, groaning explosion of glass and steel. Its undersized pilot was thrown from his seat. He hit the ground hard, tumbled, then lay where he fell. Limp and lifeless.

Black.

When Tails was stirred back to consciousness, his entire body felt heavy and beaten.

He pried his eyes open, recoiling at the earsplitting trill of tropical birds, blinking past spots of piercing white sunlight shooting through gaps in the thickly-forested canopy.

Tentatively, Tails crawled to his hands and knees. He staggered up from the muddy overgrown jungle floor.

He reached up to touch his head, but cringed at a sharp pain in his right temple. He pulled back his fingers to see blood.

He was brushing himself off, taking in his surroundings when he caught sight of the Ole Biplane.

His biplane was entangled in thick shrubbery and thorned vines. Thorns and undergrowth had scratched the sides and underside. The right strut had snapped and the wing buckled under the pressure. The spinner was smashed like a bashed-in nose, the propeller dangled off, blades missing, blades snapped off. The cockpit windshield was in shattered diamonds of glass on the ground. Spurts of fire licked the cockpit seat and seeped through the metal plates where the engine had died. Ruined.

The pilot heaved a sigh, sorting through the rubble, inspecting damage, and keeping a tally of repairs in his mind. The more he saw, the more his heart sank in his chest. He contemplated whether the aircraft was even redeemable. It had to be. There was no hope in it to think otherwise.

He considered the thick, impenetrable canopy of leaves, vines, blossoms, birds, and branches.

Flying out of here was not option. It wouldn't have been an option even if it had been in perfect shape.

And without a clear takeoff field or the needed parts for repair, he was stranded.

He pried open a compartment in the Ole Biplane's cabin and extracted a half-scorched map. He unfolded the paper, holding it out with both hands at arm's length and traced his eyes over the dotted white line of his planned route. It coasted over a vast green expanse, hundreds of miles wide between the Emerald Coast and Station Square. His eyes squinted at the name in bold ink.

"MYSTIC RUINS."

When he crash-landed here, he had crash-landed into a place of no return.

But there was no point in stopping here. He had done it. He had flown. He had left his life on West Side Island, his past, behind him. But it was just half the journey. He had to begin the rest of his new life whether he was ready or not. He stripped himself of his aviator's jacket and cracked sports goggles and he touched the dented side of his wrecked Ole Biplane before heading out.

Tails trekked through the jungle for what seemed like hours, clambering over rock ledges, slipping up mudslides, and dodging less-than-friendly looking plant life. He marked his trail to get back to as he went. He followed the sun where it shone brightest to higher and higher peaks.

He felt tired and disoriented and utterly alone.

His eyes studied the dappled pattern on shade and sunshine on the forest floor, kicking his feet down the trail when a sudden blue stream of air whooshed in front of him. Startled, he gasped and dug his heels in the dirt, coming to a halt. He gawked.

Some feet ahead in the dirt trail, a spiny blue hedgehog also screeched to a stop. He was sleek with cobalt blue quills, buffed red and white sneakers clasped in shining golden buckles and gleaming, adventurous emerald green eyes. The stranger looked over his shoulder at the fox.

Tails smiled timidly, half curious, half embarrassed at being spotted.

The blue stranger beamed a dashing smile.

He waved him over.

Tails shied away, recoiling back into the bushes. Unbelievably mortified.

The spiny blue stranger shrugged and sped off.

Something swelled inside of the little fox, watching the stranger jog away, like the realization of a new beginning, a tiny voice murmuring in his ear. Telling him…

In moments, his small feet were pattering down the dirt trail, he was picking up speed, tails propelling him forward. Leaves, grasses, bushes, trees: all a green blur.

The blue stranger was warping through the trees, buffed, red sneakers running on the ground.

The stranger ahead of him turned back his head, glancing over his shoulder. He smiled.

Everything welled up right there. He could have sworn at that moment, he felt he cared as much, even more, somehow he mattered to someone. For the longest time, even years after that fateful day, Tails clutched onto that moment. It reassured him that somehow he belonged.

- - -

It was inevitable that this blue stranger would stop and the two would become acquainted with one another. They stood side-by-side at the fringed edges of the Mystic Ruins on a craggy outcropping that overlooked the sea.

"Where are you from?"

Tails cast his gaze to his tiny feet. The small fox shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, I get it. Its cool. I'm not a big fan of my hometown neither. So, you got a name, little buddy?"

"Uhh.." the fox stammered. "Its Miles."

"Miles?" the blue stranger repeated, making a face and openly breaking into laughter.

"Miles Prower," he pouted. "I hate it."

"Yeah, agreed. Its too stuffy."

The fox and the hedgehog watched the tide crash into the barnacle-encrusted boulders below.

"Let's try a nickname. Got one o' those?"

"Well," Tails hesitated. "People used to call me 'Tails' on the Island."

The stranger let it mull over in his head for a moment.

"'Tails,' huh?"

"Mhm," the tiny fox nodded.

The hedgehog laughed, "Well, I'd say that 'Tails' is a heckuva lot better. Fits too. Yeah, I like it."

Tails smiled, suddenly, genuinely happy.

"Sooo, what's your name?"

The blue stranger's green eyes glinted. "Me?" he asked, amused, flashing his trademark grin. "Haven't heard of me?"

Tails shook his head.

"Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog."

- - -

"Ahh man.." the blue hedgehog gripes, running a gloved hand through his quills.

Knuckles plods through the garage door. He gives Sonic a dark, reprimanding glare, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

The echidna raises a doubtful brow. "Don't you hear yourself talk?"

Sonic scuffs his sneaker awkwardly against the floor.

"Did you tell him about the…?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't take it well, did he?"

Sonic shakes his head. "Why, anyway…?"

Knuckles jerks a thumb over his back, "Y'know that busted plane you wanted me to heave off the cliff?"

"What about it?"

"Its gone."

- - -

Tails runs out onto the empty airfield to the one place of retreat he can call his own.

He crawls into the decrepit cockpit of Ole Biplane, the cabin's floorboards creaking and unsound metal groaning as if roused from a deep sleep. He throws himself against the control panel, buries his head in his arms, bawling his eyes out. He mourns the Ole Biplane's rusting death, the memories, his moments of dignity and others of indignity, his deformity, the bullies on West Side Island, failures and setbacks, a life lived in the shadow of his best friend and hero, at the unfairness of it all.

Sniffling, Tails raises his head up to the blanketed darkness of night, a few distant stars winking on the dimmed horizon, where the shadowed outlines of palm trees bordering the runway sway sleepily in the open winds, where the steep cragged edge of the cliffs drop off into the sea.

As time passes by, watching the shades of colorless twilight slip into the depthful darkness of night, resolution builds and takes hold of the young pilot's heart.

Two weeks ago, he had cheated death.

This time, he would prove himself. He could do it. He could fly.

He digs his fingers into his jacket pocket and eyes the red Chaos Emerald in his hand: blazing, thrumming with radiant, fervent energy. It dances in his eyes.

"I can do it this time."

- - -

"C'mon buddy, you can do it this time!"

Sonic was never one to give in to setbacks and he taught his smaller protégé how his deformity could be a benefit instead of a betrayal. They worked together every day: running, exercising, practicing their routine in the Mystic Ruins, and taking breaks for lunch, all the while basking in the cool shadow of the ruined Ole Biplane.

"Ok, so you came from West Side…" Sonic takes a bite out of his sandwich. "But how'd you end up way out here?"

The small fox slurped at the slice of lemon in his now emptied drink glass. He glanced shyly at the rusting ruins of the Ole Biplane.

Sonic followed his gaze to the small biplane, half-dented, half-scorched beyond repair. His eyes widened in amazement. He cracked a grin. "Hah, no way! You built this thing yourself?"

The young pilot smiled humbly.

The blue speedster's emerald green eyes glinted before he said simply, "Take me up for a ride in it."

Tails gawked at him, flabbergasted. "N-no, its hardly repaired yet."

"Ahh c'mon, Tails!" he cajoled, smiling, jumping onto the top wing. The metal sounded beneath his shoes. "Take me for a spin in the ol' jalopy!"

"It doesn't even have a seat for you."

"Ah, that's cool…" Sonic planted his sneaker on the wing, hands on hips, beaming like a conquistador. "I can chill right here."

"On the wing!?" Tails yelped.

"Sure, why not?" Sonic shrugged and glanced nonchalantly at the height from his spot to the ground. "Just don't do any crazy somersaults or anything. Yet."

Tails smirked, shaking his head. As if what he was suggesting was completely safe, ordinary.

Sonic made everything seem so easy.

- - -

In time, the two repaired the Ole Biplane and perfected their routine. They set up quarters on the seaside outcropping in the Mystic Ruins where they first met, though Tails used it mostly as his personal workshop than anything else and his speeding blue partner was noticeably disappeared half the time.

Living with Sonic was living with adventure and living it every day. Their partnership together became a series of events and adventures: traversing the Zones, vacationing on South Islands, and eventually encounters with the dastardly Dr. Robotnik.

Tails had only heard his name mentioned in passing on the Island, but here on the mainland, Dr. Robotnik was an unfortunate part of everyday life. Sonic told animated stories about his showdowns with the maniacal doctor. Sonic always won. In the big cities like Station Square, his piggy, mustached face peered down from every billboard and digital projector on the street, wanted by the authorities for innumerable, unthinkable acts of oppression.

The young fox naively began to doubt that he might ever meet the fat-faced tyrant he read about in the papers.

One day, they were caught in an ambush. Sonic and Tails, back-to-back, faced a surrounding swarm of enemy badniks. Buzzbombers droned in the air above them, stingers poised at the ready. Caterkillers jeered at them with jagged teeth, bulging eyes rolling in their heads. Small mobile Bombs patrolled the perimeter around their captives, fuses flaring. Crabmeat badniks clicked their serrated metal claws menacingly. It seemed hopeless.

Sonic eyed the barrage of badniks defensively, the robotic minions all clicking, hissing, and crowding in on them. He muttered, "Just keep tight, buddy. The Big Man'll show up any minute now."

"Whaddaya mean?"

As if on cue, an egg-shaped mechanic hovercraft descended into sight from the clear, cloudless skies. Squatted in the droning, smoking vehicle, was the balding, fat-faced, portly man Tails had seen in the city papers.

He gaped up, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the villain, "Dr. Robotnik..?"

"Well, if it isn't Sonic! How goes things these days?"

The blue hedgehog met eyes with the human stranger. He smirked upon recognition and his green eyes glinted mischievously. He seemed to relax. "Thought you'd never show up, Eggman."

The human's mean red eyes flared dangerously at the nickname, but he twisted his chunky, hard-set face into a wide-set grin and twiddled the tip of his mustache between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, I'm just swamped with work. I'm sure you understand."

Tails' gaze bounced between the two. He didn't understand this ritual of cordial banter between the famed foes, that just beneath the transparent surface of hospitality was every cutthroat intention to destroy each other. It was part of the game they played. The game Sonic enjoyed.

The doctor's eyes flitted, spotting the small fox shying behind Sonic's defensive stance.

"Oooohh.. a sidekick. How quaint."

Tails pouted, "Nu-uh!"

Dr. Robotnik's fat face spread into a malicious grin. He reclined in his seat so the hovercraft bobbed slightly under his heavy weight and steepled his pudgy fingers.

"Hmmmm, I've been given an idea. Sonic, I'll make you a proposition."

Sonic crossed his arms and regarded the doctor, "Yeah? What's that?"

"My proposition…" he opened his plump palm in cordial invitation, "Give me the tot and I'll leave these good people on Emerald Hill alone."

"Hah. What makes you think I'd do that?"

The doctor's brow lifted. He muttered through his mustache, "One useless cripple for the entire region? That's quite unwise, don't you think so?"

"He's my best bud."

The small fox gaped up at Sonic. He had never heard Sonic call him that before. "Besides," the blue hedgehog leered, eyes flashng. "I'd never give him over to a fat egghead like you."

Flabbergasted, enraged, his flaming red mustache bristling, the dictator retracted his fist and slammed it against the dashboard. "You'll be sorry for this." Dr. Robotnik turned a knob in his fist and his hovercraft rocketed into the skies, exhaust flooding the dirt lot below and causing them both to keel over in fits of coughing and sputtering.

When the smoke and dust dissipated into the winds, both Robotnik and the badniks were gone, but instead, an immense shadow loomed overhead. Tails craned his neck up to see an enormous red and black battalion blimp blocking out the sunlight, an unmistakable caricature of the doctor's face plastered on the side.

Sonic sprinted after it. "Its headed west! Let's move it, Tails!"

Before he knew it, the two were headed to Tails' workshop and the newly-paved airfield runway.

Sonic hopped into his stance riding atop the Ole Biplane. He impatiently motioned for the young pilot to follow, "C'mon Tails!"

"Huh?"

"You gotta get this thing moving! We've gotta get to that blimp!"

Nodding, unthinkingly complying with his friend's demands, he quickly sported himself in his goggles, scarf, and jacket and clambered into the cockpit. But it began to sink in. Panic. He hesitated at the controls.

"Sonic, I don't know that I can do this."

"C'mon buddy. You said you wanted some action?" the blue hero offered his open white-gloved fingers to the small fox, green eyes gleaming with anticipation and need. He smiled and said, "C'mon buddy, you can do it!"

- - -

"I can do it."

The young pilot turns the Chaos Emerald over in his hands before placing it directly into the glass power chamber conjoined to the dead engine.

"I can do it."

He clicks the tarnished old key in the ignition and jiggles it urgently. He begs with the plane tenderly, desperately.

"C'mon.."

Tails fights to lock the key in place until the engine coughs then sputters then snarls raucously. The Chaos Emerald thrums and throbs in its own ruby-red radiance, roused into power. Copper wires and conjoined parts quiver and spit sparks of electricity. The shuddering heap of rusted junk that had once been the dead Ole Biplane restarts. The strident chop-chop-chop of the propeller's blades whip up gusts of dirt and dust. Patches of overgrown weeds in the dirt lot thrash against the sudden winds. The leather cockpit seat underneath Tails quakes. It ripples through his legs.

Staggering, he fastens his piloting goggles over his eyes and pulls his creased leather jacket over his shoulders. He throws his knitted red scarf over his neck. His hands shake as he takes the yoke control and toes the rudder pedal hesitantly.

Groaning defiantly, the Ole Biplane tumbles down the runway, driven forward by the potent, thrumming powers of the emerald.

Barreling past the rows of palm trees while the sands of the shoreline and the workshop fell yards behind, the pilot feels a creep of suspicion, something gone terribly wrong with the feel of the engine.

The Ole Biplane quakes rigidly and suddenly the controls seize up.

And suddenly Tails, the pilot, is helpless to stare out past the windshield glass at the ever-nearing runway's edge.

In one heart-stopping moment, the two: the retired biplane and its pilot, tip over the end of the runway strip, over the cliff's edge and plummet down, down, to dark waters and sharp crags below.

The biplane roars. Rust-scabbed, ramshackle pieces peel and break off in the face of howling winds.

Tails clutches to the controls. He blinks his eyes against the somersaulting landscape. He shouts out the voices of his past.

"I can do it!"

"Psshht, that freak will never get off the Island.."

"I can do it!"

"C'mon buddy, you can do it!"

"I can do it!"

Tails grips the handles of the yoke, grimacing, eyes squinting, willing the biplane upward with all his strength while the skies fall away from him.

"I CAN DO IT!"

Unexpectedly, the Ole Biplane jolts under violent tremors. The Chaos Emerald thrums, pulsating veins of red-hot energy throughout the plane.

The controls disengage and Tails seizes onto the throttle to pull himself up. The Ole Biplane mounts up, its underbelly barely skimming the jagged seaside rocks below.

Leveling off in the skies, he offsets the cautionary beeping and blinking at the control panels before Tails exhales, heavy and shaking. With the engine purring benignly and propeller puttering, the small pilot eyes the Chaos Emerald burning mischievously in its console.

Tails smiles uneasily, then whoops and hollers and shouts and doubles up in his seat.

He and the Ole Biplane trek on, dispersing the stars and the quiet, moonless night.

- - -

Tails realizes he has been driving for hours when he sees the early morning stretches of pink and yellow diffusing the darkness of night over the eastern horizon in his sideview mirror. The blazing sun brims over the horizon. The morning star blinks over it.

Over the side, the yellow highlighted letters "Ole Biplane" are just visible beneath the scabs of rust and broken metal plates. The blotchy red paint blazes in the morning sun. Tails feels the crisp morning breezes breathing over his fur. Beneath his jacket, his two tails, his twin deformity, sits motionless. Paralyzed. A mockery that has followed him close behind everywhere like a shadow. No more. He'd prove them wrong. Again, if he had to.

Two shadowed pinpricks dance in the breaking daylight: a flock of seagulls swoop over the skies. Glimmering, aquamarine waters lap a smooth stretch of white-sanded beaches. The unfurling leafy tops of palm trees sprouted beside reclined beach chairs. Tourists lounge and kick in the shallow waters.

Emerald Coast.

- - -

"Emerald Coast."

Tails squinted at the blinding white stretch of shoreline, the upturned leaves of palm trees waving from below.

Sonic stared steadfast ahead, locked into his stance atop the wing, his emerald green eyes glinting and flashing in the piercing overhead sunlight.

The Robotnik battalion blimp barreled on ominously.

The pilot, handling the controls with shaking hands, gazed up at the blue idol. He began feebly…

"Sonic…?"

Suddenly, a shower of screeching missiles cascaded down over them.

The blimp quaked and thundered.

"Tails! Snap out of it!!"

"Wha-?"

The white flashing noses of the missiles sheared the air. Screeching. Blinking menacingly. Billowing smoke.

"TAILS!"

The small pilot gasped and thrust down on the yoke. The Ole Biplane veered into a plunge, whipping past cottony white clouds and smoke. The controls screamed. Sirens blared. A propeller blade snapped off.

Sonic's sneaker slipped. He skidded over the side.

"Oomphh!"

The blue hero clung onto the wing by one white-handed glove. Swinging.

The pilot's eyes boggled. "Sonic!"

Snarling, the blue hedgehog clung to the bright red metal. Fingers white-knuckled and slipping.

Stammering, the fox pulled and tugged at every control, desperate to pull the biplane back up to a steady altitude, all the while, Sonic slipping. Petrified. Somersaulting downward.

- - -

Tails marks the time and date. He prepares to make his attempt.

"July, 9:57 AM…

Speeds at 75.. 80.. 85 knots.

Increasing altitude.. 5,000ft.. 6,000ft MSL.

Conditions are stable. Ready."

Everything is ready. He is ready.

He and the Ole Biplane turn upward, the Chaos Emerald thrumming.

He can remember that crash several summers ago. The one that retired the Ole Biplane for good.

He would always remember that fateful afternoon flying out over Emerald Coast..

Tails feels the gravitational tugs at his stomach. He scrunches up his face. Determined.

..the mechanized boom of Dr. Robotnik's voice, "Insolent swine!!"..

..Sonic's beaming face, "C'mon, buddy! You can do it!"..

The engine bellows. The propeller spins. Glaring yellow blades shear the air.

..Tails faltering at the controls..

Tails grips the controls in his hands, stern-faced.

..scintillating white sunlight..

Billowing clouds and gusts of wind whip the windshield.

..the sharp scent of smoke, stinging his eyes..

Howling, otherworldly sounds of the headwinds moan in his ears.

..jerking at the throttle desperately..

He adjusts the throttle, picking up speeds.

..Ole Biplane plummeting to treacherous altitudes..

Ole Biplane reaches insurmountable heights.

..the skies falling around them.. Ole Biplane tumbling erratically.

Turbulence rocks them both. The Ole Biplane shakes erratically.

..the control panel bleeping and wailing.. the engine coughing..

The Chaos Emerald's energy flickers out. The engine coughs.

..falling..

Falling.

- - -

He could remember the blinding white shoreline of Emerald Coast, the perspiration beaded his forehead, the humid summer day, the raging crash fire, smoke, disorientated tourists, wailing sirens, someone shouting…

Tails pries his eyes open to the blinding white shoreline of Emerald Coast. Perspiration beading his forehead. The humid summer day. The raging crash fire. Smoke. Disorientated tourists. Wailing sirens. Someone shouting…

Sonic shouting..

Sonic shouts.

..the blue hero bending over him, gleaming emerald green eyes wide and sharp..

The blue hero bends over him, gleaming emerald green eyes wide and sharp.

..two arms dragging him up from the smoldering rubble..

Two arms drag him up from the smoldering rubble.

..being carried, held tight..

Being carried. Held tight.

..whisked away in a supersonic boom.. the world whipping out of focus..

Whisked away in a supersonic boom. The world whipping out of focus.

..looking above him, the eyes of his blue idol staring fixedly ahead..

Tails looks above him to see Sonic's eyes staring fixedly ahead.

..and the sky.. clouds.. their white, cottony, ethereal light..

..and blue.. blue.. a world of blue..

..eye-to-eye with the sun..

Tails blinks into the harsh brilliance of the unblinking sun…

- - -

September, 6:17 PM…

Speeds at 78 knots.

Cruising altitude at a level flight.. 5,000ft MSL.

Conditions are stable.

..Peace..

To fly.

Sonic atop the wing looks over his shoulder, beaming, and gives his small pilot the thumbs up.

Tails nods smartly, smiling back.

The engine rumbles and they gain momentum, headed for the sunset, towards that far-off, unreachable strip of horizon, where the peaks of earth meet the sky, in a freshly-painted, newly-dubbed biplane.

The most recent in their collection.

Ole Biplane II.