A/N: This is a revised and updated Christmas oneshot originally written in December 2011. I was hoping to have something original to post this year, but alas, I can't even keep up with everything I need to do in real life.

The Christmas during which this was written was an extremely difficult one for me and my family, as you'll see by the dedication. Consequently, this fic has a slightly darker undertone to it than I would like. But this came straight from the heart of a hurting teenager, and I feel that it's finally time to release it.

This one was inspired by Steven Curtis Chapman's song "All I Really Want." This fic will make a lot more sense if you look up the lyrics as you read; read the first verse when it says [First Verse], etc. The lyrics are not here for the sake of avoiding copyright issues, but they are essential to the division of the story.

The first two parts take place post-Sonic 1, but pre-Sonic 2, as though Sonic and Tails met sometime in this timeframe. At that point, Tails is not quite three (still two) and Sonic is ten. The rest takes place some time after Sonic Generations, with Sonic age sixteen and Tails age nine. Other ages, do the math.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of anything in this fic. SEGA owns Sonic, Tails, and any characters and recognizable figures or objects in this fic. The lyrics to the song "All I Really Want" belong to Steven Curtis Chapman; y'all should all go find it and listen to it, as I think its message is really important.

Dedicated to the little brother or sister my family and I never got to meet, lost during the early writing of this fiction but remembered always for the joy he or she brought with them.

[First Verse]

Roughly six years ago...

The world was not a very nice place. Even at the tender age of almost-three, little Miles knew that.

Of course, this may have been a biased opinion. The fox kit had seen more of the world and its disadvantages in three years than most people had seen in their whole lives. After all, without a mommy and a daddy to keep him safe and provide for him, Miles had only his socks, shoes, gloves, and name to call his own.

Oh, his name... He hated it. Miles Prower. He got in a lot of trouble because of his name. He didn't even fully understand why. Between that and his extra tail, however, he was, more often than not, the unwitting laughingstock of the town. All the adults looked at him as though he were always covered in dirt or slime and ignored him, even when he tried to look extra cute and pitiful.

There were a few other street kids he knew, all of whom were quite a bit older than he. They often talked of avoiding the police, so as not to be sent to a place they called an "orphanage." Of course, Miles had no idea what that meant, but the others spoke of it as a horrible place where they never let you outside and you were basically no better off there than on the street. He wanted no part of that; he was much happier outside, he was sure.

That wasn't saying much, though. Besides the obvious inconvenience of having no place to sleep or eat or keep clean, the other boys (and even some girls) constantly made fun of him for his name and his tails. Understandably, he didn't want to be around them if he could help it, so he was often lonely. He often stuck to the woods during the day, only coming into town to scavenge for food and to sleep where wild animals, hungry for delicious tiny fox kits, were less of a threat. Somehow, that only seemed to make things worse; Miles had been called a recluse, a castaway, a weirdo, and all kinds of other things no two-year-old should have been able to understand.

To top all that off, Miles had recently discovered the world of mechanics; he had stumbled upon a heap of spare parts and trash outside a repair shop, and in just a couple of days' time he'd managed to construct a sort of bicycle. At first, everyone had wanted one, and he thought he'd finally won their favor. Then, when he had started to come up with ideas for how to upgrade his creation to do things like fly or convert to a wagon, the teasing had begun anew. Apparently, it wasn't cool to have ideas for something no one had ever seen before. Before long, little Miles was the two-tailed freak and mechanical geek of the town. It hurt worse the second time around, but the kit just used his new projects as a distraction to keep himself occupied. He often worked on them in the woods, alone.

To make a long story short, to him, the world was a big, mean place.

[Second Verse]

One day, right before Miles's unofficial third birthday at the beginning of the cold season, he was in an alleyway in the middle of downtown, trying to figure out how to repair a broken toy airplane. It was his; he'd found it the day before and decided to keep it and fix it up. He did regret this a little bit; the other boys had caught him musing to himself and begun to give him their oh-so-refined ideas about him and his abilities. Him being different—weird-looking and smart—was bad, and as such the other boys could not and would not accept him. He was beginning to grow used to it. It didn't cure the sting, but it came as less of a surprise.

Looking at the broken plane gave the young child time to think. The propeller was missing, the wing was snapped in half, and one of the wheels lay in his tiny, gloved hand. It was likely broken beyond repair, at least for his limited skills. He had already nicknamed it the "Flystorm" and asked a few other people around town for their help. No one he talked to seemed to give a hoot what was wrong with his plane. Didn't anyone care about little boys who didn't have a home and only wanted to keep his own toy?

He had recently heard of a man who made new toys and other things and gave them to good little boys and girls one night during the middle of the cold season. Was he not a good little boy? Or did Santa only care about kids who lived with their moms and dads? That hardly made sense; they were the ones who already had everything they needed. Miles would have just been happy to have his parents and maybe a brother or sister to keep him company.

His memory snapped; the girls and boys who got presents from Santa wrote letters to him, telling him what they wanted him to bring them. Perhaps that was what he needed to do.

Before he knew what he was doing, Miles was standing, moving, his big dark eyes peeled for a piece of paper. He had a pencil stashed away in the thick fur of his tails, so when he managed to find a small, discarded pad of paper behind a nearby office building, he was overjoyed.

The thought struck him, that maybe a letter wasn't the secret. Maybe it really was just that other children had families. That was very counterproductive, Miles thought—too much so for a guy whose entire life goal was apparently to give to others.

It was probably worth a try. Miles fingered his pencil and began to write.

[Chorus Part 1]

To an outsider, the squiggles and strange marks Miles wrote so eagerly on paper wouldn't have made any sense at all. To the kit, though, they expressed his deepest desires of all the time he'd been old enough to understand what he was missing. It translated into something like this:

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Miles Prower, and I'm all alone. My mommy and daddy are gone, and I don't have any brothers or sisters. My plane is broken, but that's not what I really want. I know you give presents to good boys and girls, and I try to be good. Can I please have a family? A mommy and a daddy. My mommy could teach me how to talk to the other boys so they might like me. A daddy would be nice, too. He could show me how to tie shoes with laces and ride a big bike, not a tricycle.

Miles stopped to think a moment. From what he knew, kids asked Santa for toys and books and things like that. Things they didn't need, but didn't have, either, as if there was something wrong with not having everything they wanted. They didn't have to ask for a family. Was there something wrong with him, that he couldn't ask for fun things because he wanted a family more?

It struck him that yes, there was something wrong with him. Maybe Santa didn't like his accursed twin tails, either. But he couldn't help that! He had been born that way!

I would also like—

He couldn't decide what else to say. He would have liked to ask for understanding for everyone who knew him, that they could see that he wasn't as strange as he looked. That didn't sound like something Santa could deliver, though. Maybe he could do it for just one person. Could he do that?

Suddenly, Miles knew what he wanted more than anything.

I would also like a big brother. He wouldn't make fun of me, and he'd know everything. He could play with me, and help me fix the "Flystorm". I don't want a sister, not a girl. Girls have cooties. I want a brother. He would be there for me, no matter what. And I would love him like I would a mommy and a daddy. Please, Santa? Thank you, Santa.

~ Miles Prower

He signed his "name" with a flourish. He considered adding a few decorations to the letter to appeal a little more to Santa, but decided against it, not wanting to seem like he was trying to be deceptive. He was done.

[Chorus Part 2]

Promptly, Miles folded the letter with utmost care and bounced up from the ground, determined to find a mailbox. It took a while, for Miles had never looked for a mailbox in the past, but he did manage to locate one after some searching. Just as he was about to drop the folded piece of paper inside, however, a voice interrupted him from behind; "Miles? Is that you? What are you doing?"

Miles quickly turned around to see Noah, another boy who roamed the streets. He didn't know the crimson-red hedgehog very well, other than knowing that he was eight years old and had run away from his parents around three years ago. Now, he looked at the younger one with an amused smirk gracing his lips.

"I sendin' Santa a wedder," was Miles's childish but proud response.

Noah let out a laugh, startling the child. "You made a wish list for Santa? Can he even read it?" he chuckled, grinning. The obvious underlying malice in the smile made Miles feel like he'd done something horribly wrong.

"He weads uver kids' wists," the kit defended weakly.

"What did you even ask for?" Noah continued to tease, crossing his arms. "It's not like he actually cares about us street kids. He won't do it."

Determination welled up in Miles, and he straightened up and attempted to look the much taller hedgehog in the eye. "I axed hi' fo' a famwy."

Noah abruptly stopped laughing and gave Miles a strange look. "You asked Santa... to bring you a family?" he questioned for clarity. Miles nodded surely.

The hedgehog turned, apparently no longer interested in making fun of Tails's activities. "Good luck with that, kid," he called over his shoulder. "You're gonna need it." Just like that, he left Miles alone.

Miles looked at the folded piece of paper in his hand. Anyone else would have noted the lack of an address or a postage stamp, but of course, the two-year-old had no knowledge of this. He eyed the mailbox like it was going to reach out and bite him. He thought about his options: he could listen to Noah and forget about the whole thing and maybe never get a family like he so wanted; or he could trust that Santa could give him what Noah, who had only ever caused him trouble, had basically claimed was impossible.

The choice was easy.

Checking to make sure no one else was around, Miles reached up on his tip-toes and just managed to reach the opening of the box. He could hear the paper flutter down and collide with the other letters in the box. He walked away proudly, head high and tails swishing cheerfully, confident that he would soon get his wish.

[Third Verse]

In another place...

Running had never gotten Sonic the Hedgehog into so much trouble.

His venture months ago into the Green Hill zone still scared him. Simplicity had turned into complexity so quickly, even he had barely been able to keep up. All he'd done was go there for a run, maybe look for a few animals that had gone missing there lately while he was at it. He'd ended up chasing some demented human who thought he could get away with taking over the place, freeing animals from robotic prisons, dodging bullets and missiles and lasers—doing all kinds of dangerous things. While he didn't regret stepping in and taking action, not one little bit, it still frightened him. What's more, the human, called "Robotnik," promised revenge. He would be back.

Months had passed, however, and Sonic felt so on-edge, he couldn't think about anything else. He hadn't run at full speed ever since the incident ended with a literal bang. The longer the not-so-good doctor waited, the more uneasy Sonic felt. Would the human's threat to return come to be the truth? Or had he only been out to scare him? If he did reappear, then would Sonic be able to defeat him a second time? He was only one small ten-year-old; he couldn't possibly do whatever it was he'd done to save the world again, could he? Was he really the one best to be trusted with the entire world? Him, a mere child?

It was almost Christmas now. The holiday had never really been a big deal for Sonic; he couldn't remember his parents very well—he'd always been alone, as long as he could remember—so Christmas wasn't much of a deal. There was no point. All Sonic could do was spend some time relaxing, and as much as he wanted to do that, Robotnik worried him too much.

It was times like these when Sonic didn't value his freedom quite as much. He was still only a kid, after all.

Sometimes he wished he had his family around. A mom to talk to, to decide whether his fears were rational, or a dad to play with. Maybe he had a sibling, even, to act as a partner in crime, or at least a supporter. He might not have even gotten in this whole world-saving mess in the first place.

Not that it mattered whether or not they existed. He was alone now, facing the threat now. Now was what mattered. Apart from Robotnik, he had always lived for the here and now, never the past or the future. Robotnik was really changing him.

Why me?

Putting it down in writing always seemed to help some. If he ever came to a time where he could sit still for more than a few minutes, he sometimes backtracked to the place where it all started—Green Hill—where he had long kept a stash of belongings hidden under a crooked tree. There, he would take out a journal, a small spiral-bound notebook he'd found in the ruins of a schoolhouse in Robotnik's wake, and spend an hour or so putting his thoughts onto paper. He didn't do it often, as he much preferred to move and take action, but it still soothed his restless spirit every once in a while. Of course, his writing skills weren't exactly worthy of the next great American novel, and his penmanship left something to be desired, but who was going to see it, anyway?

Now that it was nearing Christmastime, Sonic found himself writing more than usual. Sure, he had a few sort-of friends he could have been spending time with, but they were the type to talk about others behind their backs, and likely, they'd only befriended him because of that stupid fight with Robotnik, because of his rising fame. He didn't particularly enjoy being in their company. Besides, he tended to be happier on his own, anyway. He was pretty sure that if he had grown up with a family, he might have left them behind on purpose by now, anyway.

[Fourth Verse]

Now, he was sitting, legs crossed, underneath some random tree in some random field in some random place. Journal out, pencil scratching away. He stopped momentarily, deep black eyes glazed over as he stared at space, not really seeing anything. A good five minutes passed before a chilly breeze knocked the preteen hedgehog out of his thoughts and he began to write again.

You know, if you think about it, Christmas isn't a fair holiday. The ones that have everything get more, while the rest of us are just there. We have no means of celebrating the way they see fit. Even family togetherness doesn't even work out; without Mom and Dad, there's no way to do Christmas the way the rest of the world does. There's no way to do life the way they do. It's not fair!

Sonic realized that he was scowling at the paper, teeth gritted, pencil pressing against the paper so hard that the page behind it was impressed with the letters. He wanted to violently rip the page out of the journal, but he resisted for the sake of not wasting precious paper. He sighed and shook his head, rubbing his eraser over the words he'd written. That done, he started over.

I had a thought the other day. If I could only ask for one thing for Christmas this year, I know a lot of kids would have trouble picking out only one thing. They usually have about a million things they want, because it seems like they're never happy with what they have. I would only have to choose between two things. And I think I know which one I would pick. Over stopping Robotnik, I'd take a family of my own.

See, I could keep fighting Robotnik. I probably will, if he ever decides to show his ugly mug again. It'd be a whole lot easier if I knew someone had my back, though. Isn't that what families and friends are for? I've had no luck with friends, but a family sticks with you no matter what. You know, a mom to encourage you, a dad to teach you how to do stuff, and a brother or sister to tell you what you did wrong so you can fix it. That would just be the awesomest present of all.

Dabbing into childlike logic for a moment, Sonic wondered for a moment if you could wrap up something like that and put it under the Christmas tree in the town square. Though he could quickly throw that idea away, his vivid imagination ran wild in other directions; suddenly, he was playing with some older blue hedgehog on the floor, wrestling him. He couldn't make out any features on the older one, which was kind of disappointing, but he could almost sense the strength of this father-figure, could feel him holding back and letting him win. Someone else closer to his own size, probably a younger brother, soon joined in, and high-pitched giggles and war cries filled his ears. A third, mother-like figure stood off to one side, laughing and taking pictures. They were all surrounded by torn-up red wrapping paper and boxes, but there were no toys; the wrapping paper appeared to be just... there. The young hero felt his mouth curl into a small but real smile as the imaginary scene unfolded.

[Bridge]

Opening his eyes again, Sonic knew he had to rationalize with himself a bit. There had to be a few downsides to having his wish for a family granted. It was probably really nice most of the time, but he had heard of even small spats escalating, breaking up people's marriages and smashing even the strongest families to pieces. That was how he knew a lot of kids like himself who didn't have permanent homes. A few had run away when things got bad between their parents. Several families had lost their homes after a nasty divorce or something. One or two even had parents that had refused custody of their children and left them to fend for themselves.

But wasn't all that the polar opposite of what families were supposed to do? They were supposed to stick together through thick and thin. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal if they fought every once in a while, because they could get over it. They were supposed to hold tickle fights and celebrate Christmas all together and play football in the front yard. This was the kind of family Sonic wanted—the kind that needed only each other to live through each difficult day.

Fighting Robotnik is going to be a full-time job. It's just a gut feeling, an instinct, but somehow I just know that he won't give up on whatever he wants that easily. I wish I at least had a friend to watch my back, but since I'm having rotten luck with that, I think I'd rather have a family anyway. Is this what every orphan wants for Christmas? Probably. I could do without friends; I have to do without a family. I wonder if Santa would give me one if I asked him?

He doubted this, and he certainly wasn't going to write a letter to the North Pole like some little kid. He was ten years old, for crying out loud! Maybe the mysterious Santa Claus could give him a family, but Sonic knew he would rather go find it himself. He was a born adventurer, after all.

[Fifth Verse]

Sighing, he closed his journal and placed it for safekeeping in his quills. Standing at full (but still short) height, he gave one more little sigh, dark eyes clear and focused as he deliberately tore his mind from its pensive state. He ran off, toward whatever adventure awaited him next, with or without anyone to cheer him on.

"Whatever you've got in mind," he whispered into the wind, "I'll find it. Just you wait and see."

[End Chorus Part 1]

Present time...

"Who wants more hot chocolate?" Sonic called cheerfully.

Hands raised all over the room with excited cheers. A haphazard line formed from the living room to the kitchen, where mom-of-the-day Vanilla scooped generous servings of steaming, peppermint-scented hot chocolate into each waiting mug. After adding marshmallows and a mountain of whipped cream to his own mug, Sonic watched as each of his friends carefully stepped over rustling piles of gift wrap to reach their seats again, then congregated into two or three groups of conversation. He didn't really notice when Tails and Knuckles slipped up behind him until Knuckles jabbed him in the arm lightly with one of his knuckle spikes; "Are you sure you checked every doorway and every ceiling for you-know-what-plant?"

Sonic tried to keep from coloring as he shoved his echidna friend away, saying, "Yup, every square inch."

"With Amy, you never know," Tails reasoned, giving the flustered sixteen-year-old hedgehog a sly grin.

Sonic drew in a slow, deep breath. "Should I be looking up right now...?"

"No, you're safe," Tails assured him. "For now."

Sonic visibly relaxed. "I think I might just hang outside for the rest of the night, huh?"

"It's your own fault, for those so-called 'stunning good looks' you were born with," Knuckles mocked with a dramatic head toss and an overenthusiastic thumbs-up.

"At least I have them," Sonic shrugged with fake carelessness, smiling ever so lightly as Tails tried to conceal his laughter and Knuckles clenched his fists, rolled his eyes, and excused himself to locate a mint to throw at Sonic's eye.

With that, the topic of Sonic's supposedly nonexistent love life died, and Sonic and Tails stood in companionable silence near the brightly-colored Christmas tree for a minute, watching the warm holiday scene unfold. Shadow was standing and watching just as they were, Amy and Cream were playing a game of Memory at the coffee table, Vector was talking with Knuckles and Rouge about some case the Chaotix had taken on, Silver and Blaze were trying to talk Marine into or out of something desperately, and Vanilla was nowhere to be seen, possibly cleaning up a small hot cocoa spill Charmy had committed.

The scene was rather chaotic to behold, but in this moment, Sonic never wanted it to end.

[End Chorus Part 2]

"You remember the first time we put together a Christmas party?" Tails asked Sonic, quite out of the blue.

Not particularly caring about the randomness of the comment, Sonic answered, "Yeah, it was just you, me, and all the original Chaotix."

"That was fun," Tails remarked, smiling at the one he called his older brother.

"All I remember is Knuckles threatening to pound in mine and Vector's heads like turtles," Sonic honestly noted.

"Don't ruin the mood, Sonic."

"I wasn't complaining! He chased us through the Chaotix headquarters for an hour trying to kill us all! We must've broken everything in the universe! It was awesome!"

The fox shook his head, hoping to hide the huge grin on his face. "Did anybody actually like each other at the time, or were you guys just putting up with each other? I was pretty little, I don't remember."

"I thought they were cool," Sonic shrugged, sniffing his cocoa. "I'm pretty sure I was the respected enemy. Everybody liked you, though. Cute kid and all." He winked at the fox and lifted his cup to his mouth.

Tails took a moment to imagine the scene and finally snickered, "So in other words, if it weren't for me, you would have no friends."

"Of course not!" scoffed the blue hero. "I'd have friends. They just... probably wouldn't know it."

"Because they would all be your enemies, instead."

"Exactly. See, I knew you'd catch on."

"'Catch on'?" Tails couldn't contain his laughter any longer. "At least half of us tried to kill you the first time they saw you! The fact that we're all here drinking hot chocolate and watching Frosty the Snowman together is kind of a miracle!"

Sonic paused at that, thinking back with a curious expression. Knuckles, Shadow, Silver, Blaze... Dang, he's barely even exaggerating... "How did that happen?" he wondered aloud. "I mean, I know you're good, bro, but—yipe!" He had to adjust his footing quite suddenly when he found himself with his best friend's arms around his torso, his face turned away from Sonic's line of vision. "H-hey, watch where you're throwin' that weight of yours! What's this for?" he laughed uncertainly, arms spread apart.

Tails looked up with a beaming smile, the kind that he used to give Sonic when he was little and the hedgehog had done something nice for him. "You're a dork," he accused lightly. "But every family has one. I wouldn't have it any other way."

["All I really want for Christmas...

"Is a family..."]

Several of the others noticed when Sonic and Tails went down in a bundle of limbs, quills, and tails, blue clearly overpowering gold. Tails's uncontrollable laughs filled the air, but since no one could actually see what Sonic was doing, the two were quickly ignored.

"Did you have to say that? That was probably the cheesiest thing ever said at a Christmas party!" Sonic scolded as if there wasn't a forty-pound mass of squirming, kicking fox in his lap.

Tails's only response was to giggle uncontrollably and beg Sonic to stop tickling him. Of course, he was readily ignored, even in the face of Amy's camera.

It was a good few minutes before Sonic decided to show mercy and quit, allowing Tails, who was still lying on top of him, to breathe again. He ruffled the fox's bangs affectionately, smirking at the glare he received and saying, "Nah, me neither, buddy." He looked up at his audience with a cheeky grin, declaring, "That's my Christmas gift this year. Who's next?"

"No way, mate!" Marine shrieked, taking off into the next room to the sound of the others cracking up again. The chatter began anew, now that the partygoers had gotten some humor into their systems.

As the group broke off again and the comedy duo found themselves alone again, Tails finally caught his breath enough to give Sonic a flat look (or at least as flat as he could get when he wanted to smile at the same time) and a very sarcastic, "Thanks a lot..."

Sonic just gave him a thumbs-up. "'Welcome, lil bro. Merry Christmas!"

Tails finally let himself smile again. As he thought back to their earlier conversation, he couldn't be too mad at Sonic. Y'know, Santa did good that one year. I have the best family ever, in my friends... And I only have to live with this one. "Merry Christmas, big bro."

~ The End ~

Merry Christmas, one and all! May your holiday be filled with joy, and may your year be filled with blessings!