Cupcakes For Amy

Chapter 2: "Mothers and Shy Boys"

The next night that keeps her awake holds a shy moon and even more bashful stars.

This time she has a dream about her mother, a black figure that she can only identify as familiar by the sound and flow of her voice. The thing that strikes Amy is that the voice is not one made soft and sweet by fondness or memory, but in fact the voice of her late mother is pressed and somewhat frustrated. Everything she says seems to take on an air of urgency that Amy does not quite understand, and because her heart races at this desperate figure's speech she begins to grow unnerved. She is talking about books, and it takes a while for Amy to remember that they used to do this all the time. It is not a loving moment, seeing her mother in a dream. It makes her blood feel too warm, the pulsing in her head becomes intense, she begins to realize every time she needs to draw breath. This, she knows, is a haunting; an event in which the dead do not settle where they belong, but kick up the dirt that has been smoothed over their existence.

She isn't a child in this dream, no, but she feels like one. Eager, stupid, and one dimensional. She is the Amy she has always been up until recently, the one her mother knew in a flighty blur. Amy is lying on a carpet with two different patterns, because in her subconscious she can't remember which one was supposed to go in the reading room, where her mother has brought her. It is either a forest green leaf pattern, or a rose bouquet pattern of different colors. Her mother sits down on a rocking chair and gathers Amy's hands, bringing her child's head into her cold lap. The pink hedgehog follows this silent command even though she wishes to wake up, to not feel as if there is a ghost behind her eyes, forcing them to close.

"I miss you." It is something she is not expecting. Amy's eyes and head fly upward to meet the figure. The character traits of this dream mother are so few that Amy only registers the long white quills and the neat blue of her eyes. "I love you so very much." There it is again, that pressed tone. As if she will die soon, all over again, and a response must be relayed right now now now.

Without warning there is a loud booming voice that bellows out a greeting. Her father enters her field of vision, and her heart floods. Of all the people she knew, she had always loved her father the most. She could remember loving him even as a babe, the way his voice made her smile and how much they loved to laugh together. "My pink girl," He says, and just the way he says it brings tears to Amy's eyes. She remembers him much more clearly. His red quills are accurately wild, she has even remembered the accent that can best be described as Irish, how green and strong and alive his eyes were. "What's the matter? You seem so down. It's been so long since you've come to see us."

"See you?" Amy whispers, but the moment she says it she realizes what he means. That she has not allowed herself to think about them for years. She didn't know the dead knew about things like that. She becomes so very ashamed that she wished herself to wake even more. "I've been busy. I'm a hero now." She tries, she makes excuses. "I have a lot of friends. We save people."

"That's so grand," her mother says. "But what about her?" Her slender fingers point toward something she cannot see beyond her shoulder. Amy turns without thinking, and her blood turns to snow in her veins. Cosmo is on the ground, and on the corner of her pale lips there is a theatrical trail of blood, her eyes are open and the sky blue irises watch as Amy trembles. Amy turns around, shakes her head, unable to speak. Her mother speaks for her. "That's okay, little one. We know. It wasn't your fault. But she's changing you, isn't she?" Amy has no time to reply, because all of a sudden, her mother is crying. "I wish you wouldn't love him, you know."

Sonic. The thought burns in Amy's brain, and it has the effect of a deadly virus. There is a gust of wind so strong that it carries Cosmo, her mother, and her father away. The room dissolves and she is left in blackness. She becomes very afraid. She looks up, around, away, and there is no one there for her. Not one. Her friends, her family, all gone.

She bends at the waist and presses her forehead into the ground, her hair swinging along with her head.

"Leave me alone!" She yells, and it echoes all around her. "Leave me alone and let me be happy!"

Even in her dream, she has no idea who her voice is being addressed to.

Amy wakes up with a shock, looks at her alarm clock, and sees that she has only been asleep for two hours.

"What do you think Amy?"

The hedgehog stirs back to the real world, trying to pretend like her mind hasn't been drifting in an out of a very mundane conversation. Cream's large and expecting eyes are drilling into hers, in their own odd way, intimidating.

"It's good." Amy answers wearily, but with a smile she hopes will pass for amiable. "Very good."

"But…" Cream's voice becomes confused. Her eyebrows slant down and the little rabbit awkwardly looks at her friend. "You haven't tried it yet."

Amy looks down at the brownie in her hand and blinks slowly, a blush firing up her neck. She bites into it to remedy her situation, and admits to herself that the chocolate is smooth. Amy makes a 'mmm' sound and offers a thumbs up, and it is like her little hiccup never happened. Cream smiles as if the sun is inside of her chest, with such unfiltered joy that Amy looks away for a moment. Amy washes it down with some tea that has a crisp minty flavor. Cream bites into her brownie and Vanilla does the same, identical even in timing. It makes Amy think of her dream last night, and to force herself to stop thinking about it she eats another brownie with twice the vigor. When they are done with the treats, Amy lifts up the tea tray and carefully gathers the dishes. This is the way she does things here. She acts like a sister and a daughter, helping with the dishes because she loves the way this house feels like home.

Vanilla joins her while Cream takes a bath, and for a while the two wash and dry side by side. Just when Amy thinks she is free of a conversation that she dreads having, the words come from the mother rabbit. "You look so tired, Amy. Have you not been sleeping well?"

She cannot lie to Vanilla. This woman, with her long dresses and pink lipstick and caring demeanor is practically the only one who truly truly loves her. She has offered this perfect house to her, offered her sweet mannerisms and demanded nothing in return.

"Mmm, no. I've had a rough couple of nights." Amy mumbles. She wonders if there's anything she can do to reduce the bags under her eyes, if there's a way to make her look livelier than she actually is. It has been two days on four hours of sleep, and though Amy had never considered herself unhealthy, it was starting to take a toll. She could hardly focus on one thing for longer than a couple of minutes, and she was always fighting the urge to collapse and sleep. "But I'm fine." She adds.

"Sleep here tonight," Vanilla smiles. "I just washed the sheets, and I promise that I'll do whatever it takes for you to feel comfy. I never liked the idea of you living all by yourself anyways. It must be awfully lonely at night."

"Not at all," Amy whispers as she dries off another dish. Even though she knows the rabbit does not mean anything even remotely offensive, Amy feels the need to defend. "I like my house."

"I know you do, dear. But…"

"I can't ask you to take me in." Amy manages to keep her voice level. "Because you are my friend. And Cream is my friend. To take advantage of that friendship, well, I would be riddled with guilt. Plus, I don't need a home, I have a lovely home that I built myself. So please, don't be worried." Amy dries a little more aggressively, and the action does not go unnoticed.

"I…" Vanilla's voice fades, and when Amy looks, she sees that the woman looks a little saddened. "I hope that's not what you really think. That Cream and I are your friends."

This startles Amy. "But…you are aren't you?"

"I always thought we were more than three friends." Vanilla admits. "I think of you as family. I know Cream does too, that she loves you like a sister. And, if I can be completely honest Amy, I think of you as my daughter. I mean, I worry about you. You're very strong, but I'm always worried. I love when you tell me things that are going on in your life. The times that all three of us spend together, those are the moments I treasure the most."

Amy thinks about the images that won't leave her. The image of her real mom, sitting by the window with an open book in her hand, the sunlight pouring in so subtly that it enhanced the grace and beauty that her mother was most known for. Ever since last night she has been remembering all sorts of things. How her mother hated when she played in the garden, the way she was always beautiful no matter what she was wearing or doing, the way she always read poetry to Amy, trying to pass on the beauty by words. If her mother was alive, would she appreciate Vanilla's speech? No, this Amy knew for sure. That was the thing about her mother, behind the poise and sophistication there was also a hot passion of possession. It was why she was often jealous without reason, why it always upset her that Amy was more her father's child. If the poet known as August Rose were still alive today, she would have been upset to hear another woman call Amy her daughter.

Amy glanced at Vanilla, and through the rabbit's brown eyes and easy grin was the face of her mother. She wished she could say that she felt the same. But it felt wrong. She had known the feeling only once before, the first time she ever met Shadow the Hedgehog. She had hugged him, thinking he was Sonic, but when she pulled away to see a different face, her whole body had felt only one thing. Wrong. It had said. Wrong wrong wrong. This was how it felt now, hearing a confession she could not reciprocate. Like if she were to pull away farther the image of Vanilla would twist and morph into a jagged monster with a wide open mouth, feeding off of the words of children who give precious titles away.

There are eyes still on her now. Amy remembers where she is. "But you aren't my mother." Amy whispers. She regrets every word she said though she cannot stop herself. "My mother was murdered, but I am still hers."

Vanilla takes a step back and brings her hand to her lips. She has a look of hurt that stings Amy so badly she feels like mirroring the motion herself. "I'm so sorry," Vanilla manages. "I didn't know. I mean, I knew, but I just forgot. Please Amy, I didn't mean to disrespect-"

"It's fine." Amy rushes in. She doesn't think she could handle another emotional speech. "Really. I love you and Cream very much, and you guys are so very close to my heart. It's just that…well…" For a moment she thought of how she wanted to express her reasons. She thought of describing how she felt when her mom died, or expressing how her mother would never be okay with her moving on with parental figures, or how she was resenting the feeling that she had to give everything away. But, in the end, all she could manage was. "She's my mom."

There was a span of respectable silence. Vanilla piped up the moment it felt like it was lasting too long. "If I may, I'd like to ask a question. Feel free to not answer, this subject must be so tender for you. But…do you miss her?" Vanilla's voice is filled with wonder. They had never had a conversation about Amy's past before.

Green irises met chocolate ones. And even though it would have been best, the teenage girl still could not lie. "It's not worth it to miss her." Amy puts down the last dish and walked to the back door. She could not explain it, but the room was suddenly so hot she was sweating in nervousness. But every time she looked at Vanilla a chill would sweep down her spine, the contradicting feelings resembling a fever that made her stomach twist. She reaches toward the door handle, and when she touches it, it feels as if it is the only thing that's real. Like everything could just be a terrible dream, not quite a nightmare. She felt it again, the pulsing in her head, the hot blood stinging in her veins, the pain that was starting behind her eyes. She could not stay here anymore. Cream would be disappointed, but Amy didn't think she could stand one more minute. Not one. And once she left Vanilla would tell her daughter what had happened. She didn't want to think about that.

She opened the door and closed it in a single draw of breath, and even though she heard Vanilla's calls on the other side, she pretended that she didn't. And by the power of her mind, when she ran, she put miles behind her shoes and the wake of a disappointed heart.

Amy does not go home for a while, instead she stops running in the center of a large mall.

When she slows down, people stop to stare at her. For a moment, Amy attributes it to the fact that she is a known hero. That several months ago she was on the television with a robot that had its skull flattened in the wake of her fury and hammer. Except that she suddenly remembers that there are bags under her eyes and her hair is a mess, her dress not pressed to perfection, but lazily put on. Her headband isn't even present anymore. Somehow, she has lost it. They are not staring at the powerful and feisty Amy Rose. They are confused at the messy and disheveled Amy Rose, the one who runs from people who love her and dreams of long gone dead people.

She slips away from the public, and all she can think is that between Cream, Vanilla, and these witnesses, someone will tell Sonic that she has become a lunatic. Her insanity, for lack of a better term, is becoming worse; she can feel it, the way she cannot make herself blend in to her molded place in life. Amy goes into a bookstore that she has never been in before. There are very few people here. She goes to the poetry section, because she has been prompted to remember it is deeply embedded in her. Bringing up the past, though hard, has awarded her with a different interest. Amy pulls out several interesting covers and settles down on the ground.

She reads for a while, from Swords and Servants to Frostbitten Heartbreak and How Glorious a Summer. She cannot remember the classics she used to listen to, but this works just as well. She props herself comfortably in a big cushiony pillow meant for children and reads without real order or strategy. That is one of the great things about poetry; she thinks to herself, that it does not really follow rules. She can skip to the end or the middle or read whatever she likes. She takes an odd sense of vindication from it.

They're mostly all about romance though. That's one of the unfortunate things.

Because every time she reads about a prince or a summer love, she thinks about a blue hedgehog with courage in his blood. How sweet his voice sounds, the way she can drown just by hearing him say the most simplistic phrases. It seems though she is slowly losing her mind, it had not stalled the maddening amount of love she feels for him. She loves him so much it drives her to clench the book with assertive need. Amy breathes out a sigh and let's herself daydream about Sonic appearing before her in a red cape and a sword in his hand, offering to whisk her away.

Poetry is good for another reason. In those romantic sonnets, even a noble prince of incalculable value can fall in love with a plain overly aggressive girl who just can't seem to get it right.

When the hours pass by and she is filled to the brim with poetry, she decides to leave.

She sneaks out of the back and slips away to the countryside, to a road that will eventually take her home. There are some good things about living a ways away from the city, like the quiet that only comes from the absence of metal and luxuries, and the way the dirt sounds under her boots. Still, she cannot help but wish she were closer.

Maybe it's not that you want to be closer, her mother whispers, clear as day in her ear. Maybe it's that you want to be further away from them.

Amy turns around so fast that her hair smacks the side of her cheek, but as sure as the sound had been-it had been right there for crying out loud—she cannot see anyone. The trees are so few and far in between that no one would have had a chance to hide. Fear grabs her by the throat, her heart is beating so quickly that even though she wants to scream, she can't. Her chest is heaving with the breath that was taken from her in the seconds of fright. All that she can hear now is the chirping of some distant birds, the whirl of a summer breeze passing by. There is nothing there.

Amy turns around, no more than a simple twirl, and is hit with something so hard that the next thing she sees is open sky.

"Amy?"

Her eyes are open, he notices, so he knows she is still conscious. The eyes still stare, so open that he can see the base jade of her irises, and then the spring green of the shine where the sun brings out the radiance. Her face is flushed, her arms spread open like she could only register the falling for a moment and not have the time to catch herself. He waits for a second-too long in his opinion-and is shocked when nothing happens.

"Amy?" Sonic tries again, and this time, the petrified look leaves her face when she blinks. He stands up and wipes the dirt and gravel from his knees, making sure his hands are clear when he offers one to her. She stands up as if she is not quite sure she can, but when she looks at him again, he is sure she sees him. Still, the half grounded bewildered gaze does not really leave fully. "I ran into you," he tries explaining. "Nobody goes on this road, and…I never thought I'd run into anybody so I wasn't paying attention and-"

"And you hit me…" She finishes in a breath that sounds on the brink of crying. For a moment there is a terrible feeling of guilt and embarrassment. He hates when girls cry, and to think that he might have hurt her would certainly mean tears. It is then, like the snap of a rubber band, he remembers that Amy does not cry with pain. Though she cries often in his opinion, he has never seen her tear up from a cut or a bruise. Still, the possibility of tears altogether makes him panic.

He is looking at her when he sees the blood run down her elbow, a small river that falls over her wrist ring and falls over the slender pathways of her fingers. It is then that he feels the real sting of a cut on his knee, and when he looks down; his beloved shoe now has droplets on the ankles. Amy turns around suddenly, toward the way she was facing when they bumped into each other. He looks where she does, and sees the open green grass of a well-kept world. She turns around, and the panicked look returns. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes remarkably wide. She looks like she wants to say something, like the words are in her throat but she cannot make them real. She looks, to him, like a frightened animal. He feels the need from the pit of his stomach to get that look to leave her, of all the things he is used to he is not used to Amy behaving like this. No, not Amy. She is pretty fearless, the only one he knows who can watch him disappear into a mass of metal and feel the need to prove herself as well. That, he can admire.

"So, can we get patched up at your house?" He says, and his head tilts a little so he can ensure she can see him.

Amy snaps back into the motions of someone who is alive and well, brushing her hair back into being tame, she sounds breathless. "Right, um, yeah, okay. Yeah, cause I have bandages. Right." Amy stares into his eyes the same way that is uniquely her, with equal parts aggression and enamored joy. It is the kind of stare that makes him shy, because she will hold a gaze with such boldness he cannot help but fall under the pressure they hold. Her presence alone is very intimidating, she is always so sure that by comparison, nobody else seems to hold a candle in their confidence. Her cheeks are red again, the way they often get when he knows she is captured in her intense feelings.

Amy smiles at him, and they begin walking in the same direction. He wonders if her elbow stings the way his knee is burning, if she is in pain at all. They walk side by side, not saying much of anything. His hand swings a little too much in a stride and knocks against her own.

She comments on it, of course. "You wanna hold my hand?" Even though it is embarrassing as hell, there is also something comforting about it. This is normal Amy, the one who is not so much a beautiful shy and patient blossoming flower as she is a building bomb, full of fire and sly smiles and ulterior motives that she cannot hide so well so she falls back on her brave expressions of love.

Sonic manages a nervous chuckle, and Amy's head turns back to the road. There is a distant easiness in her face, but there is something that the security brings out, tired eyes. She suddenly looks so sleepy. Sonic is almost taken aback by the sheer exhaustion in her face, as if she has not slept for years and years.

"Sonic?"

"Yeah?"

"We're here." She is looking up at him now. Her face is sad, and he thinks she has read his mind, but such a thing is so impossible that he feels ashamed for thinking so. He stops along with her, stopping just short of the pathway to her door. When he looks back at her again, she is smiling.

The inconsistency breaks his optimistic demeanor. He is actually worried. Something is wrong.

What is going on with Amy?

Amy is sitting on the couch sorting through a first aid kit, when she finds the bandages she's looking for.

Sonic is sitting on a chair that she actually built by hand and spent hours painting it with a smooth green that reminds her of a mellow spring. He rocks back and forth with the frequency of someone who is bored out of their mind, but he doesn't say anything. He has never been one for talking, he has always preferred to observe, it is something she loves, but now it is the most unsettling thing in the world. She walks over to him and wraps his knee with the care that projects her feelings ten times over, pleased when her handiwork shows a perfect, lovely example of dressing a wound. She stands up and places her hands on the front of her dress, the manners of a princess.

"Can I get you something to eat?" She asks. Just this morning, before the entire Vanilla incident, she has made several dozen cookies with flavored chocolates settled in the middle. An entire apple pie, a small pan of fudge, and some tea she blended herself. And then, a project that she started after the nightmare, two decorated jumbo cakes. When she sees that he's having a hard time answering, she stands up and goes to the kitchen herself. She gets the jumbo cake, a mug that she fills with tea, and two cookies. "Here," she offers. "you don't have to eat it, just in case you want it."

"Thanks." Sonic replies with a grateful tone. He takes the tiny plate from her and his eyes widen. "What bakery did you get this from?" He asks, taking in the frosting pattern that is unmistakably professional, a cupcake of a large size with his face, complete with a race track and an amazing frosting rendition of his shoes. It looks so delicate and artistic that he hesitates on even touching it, but he gathers his fingers around the base at the bottom, lifting it up to look at it in the light.

"Me, err—I did." Amy answers with a smile so wide she must close her eyes to make room.

"She was always so talented." The words come again, and Amy does not have to turn to know it is her mother. She dares to glance, and sees that the young white angel is sitting on her couch, her hand extended in a hand gesture, talking to her father, who is sitting back with his arms crossed. They are both smiling. "Remember how she used to make us breakfast in bed? She'd come in so excited, and she'd sit between us to watch us eat it."

"Best muffins I ever had." Her father chimes in, his voice loud and booming as always.

"—is just awesome!" Amy tunes in to the other side of the room, where Sonic is admiring her hard work. There are butterflies in her belly, warm and light, so jittery and abuzz that her smile returns. Amy looks back, not expecting her parents to be there, but they are looking as real as the fabric of her couch. They are talking about things amongst themselves, things that sound like useless adult talk. "Amy?" Sonic pipes up, and Amy turns around again.

"Thank you." Amy responds politely, and when he takes a bite, she watches him.

"I can see why she likes this one," August is saying, though her tone is not approving at all. "He's very handsome. Though I do wish he'd put on a shirt." Her hand is resting under her chin, her eyes tilted toward the light. Amy sees now that her mother is the kind of beautiful that people write songs about, the kind of lovely that is so enchanting she makes sure she is never a dull experience in the life she lives. Anyone with her mother would kiss her every day, and always make sure to tell her she was loved. It was the scary kind of beautiful. After all, with looks like those, you always remember the worth, and how painful it would be to lose such a fortune. August catches her eye, sees her daughter looking from the corner and puts on a slow smile. "Tell him he looks handsome. Men like to be complimented."

Her father merely grunts. He disapproves, but he is dead, and there is no place for a dead man's objection in the world of the living. "Well," he shrugs. "He is a hero. My girl could do worse I guess. But does he have to treat her so coldly? I don't remember it being that way with us, no. Am I missing something?"

Her mother leans forward a bit then, toward her husband. Her hand finds its way to his arm, and her voice becomes defensive, in the way that is trying too hard. "No no dear, that's the way it is now. The boys all keep the girls at arm's length, keeps them from being in embarrassing situations. It's different than in our day. Maybe, maybe he's just very shy. If you're shy, you might treat a woman poorly."

'Shut up,' Amy thinks so loudly she is screaming. The world is wobbling and she is so dizzy. 'Shut up and leave me alone.'

"—did you get the chocolate in the middle?" Sonic is asking.

"-Go on dear tell him he's handsome!"

"-If you ask me—"

"-It tastes amazing!"

"-No one asked you Alister! This is women's business!"

"—really impressed!"

"—I'm just saying August!"

"—handsome!"

"—okay?"

Amy's head is filled with voices, she straightens like a child being punished. There might be tears at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn't feel them. She is only aware of the headache that is swelling into a means to make her even more insane. Suddenly she is so very tired, able to feel every hour of sleep that has been stolen from her, able to sense that she cannot keep it up much longer. Everything crumbles, everything dies, even little girls with careful and simple smiles.

"...You look very handsome today," She complies and it becomes very quiet. All eyes are on her, they might as well be lasers, but she only cares about one set of eyes. They are so lively and alive, not the shade of green she has, but a light spring of a color that makes her heart beat so loud it is all she can hear. Sonic blushes, as does she, an ocean in their ears. Amy coughs a little and manages a smile. "I know you only came here to get a bandage, but, maybe we can hang out a bit longer?"

For a moment there is nothing. "Please?" She adds.

"Sure." Sonic answers. It sounds forced. For once there is not a cheesy smile of an answer, or the non-answer he likes to give. He stares at her as if his comfort zone has just been ripped out from under him.

No matter, she'll take what she can get. Her mother stays silent, blue eyes frozen in a look of sly interest, her father leaves the room, Vanilla still has not come to cause alarm. Despite the fact that she is going crazy, and seeing the ghosts of her past, for a moment everything feels better than it has in a long time. The world melts away, angered to have been left behind, but it waits patiently on the outside of her door. They give her these precious moments seperate from madness, a gift from the universe not many are awarded.

A/N: Do you think Mobians have, like, pet dogs and stuff? I mean, do they see a puppy in the window and be like, "Aw how cute!" or "Oh hey, there's Ron again." Is it like the Goofy/Pluto thing? I mean, Goofy is clearly a dog, so then what the heck is Pluto? Are there regular hedgehogs on their planet? I mean, you know for a fact there's Jet the Hawk and birds that sing on tree limbs. Does that mean there's anthro dogs and then regular dogs? I mean, there's a little inconsistancy in this made up planet of theirs. I'm sure I'd know if I read the comic, but let's face it, the comic is God awful. Blegh.

So, Amy gets to convince Sonic to chill for a couple more hours. Willl Vanilla intervene and cause concern? What's with Amy seeing her folks? Are the ghosts of the past really there, or is Amy just losing her mind? All I know is, don't get your hopes up for a Sonic/Amy kiss next chapter. I don't plan on it.

-GlitterElixir