Tails had started getting used to pain since everything that had happened after Sonic had got shot: mental and physical. But this was excruciating. Despite his eyes being screwed shut against the pain, and although the inescapable white light was still there, continuously burning his retinas, images began to form before him, slowly coming to together like many components of a stop-motion film, until a lifetime appeared before him in black and white, colour, and sound.
Darren, considerably younger, probably 11, was standing in front of a grand building with glass walls, frosted with intricate patterns. Inside were hundreds of corridors leading to rooms walled with white plaster. Darren played with the idea that behind every door was a key, and if you knew where to start, and thought for long enough, you could open all of them. Above the double doors engraved with an elaborate crest was a name in bold silver lettering: John Brigg's School for Academic Excellence. Beside him were two tall adults silhouetted in the light.
The perspective changed and tails saw it was a slighter younger looking version of Darren's parents. John had his hand gently on his son's shoulder.
"They might understand you better here son."
Darren sighed exasperatedly, "Dad, just face it. I'm a nut case!" He looked down dejectedly "Nobody understands me, nobody ever will. Not even you guys."
Melissa sighed and knelt next to her downtrodden son. "Look sweetie, me and your father will never understand what goes on in that head of yours, but that's not a neccesarily a bad thing."
John stepped in and knelt beside his wife. "Plus, you're not a nut case, you just think a little sideways."
"Eventually you'll find someone better than us mere mortals who can understand you better."
Darren lifted his head up a little, he looked at the sheet glass. The transparency of the school's ethos was as clear as the walls of the building. Everywhere there hung science posters on the walls, but as he looked around the halls, exposed to the outside world via the walls, he looked at the classroom signs and his suspicions were proved right: not a single R.S. department.
"I can't believe you're doing this to me guys. I've looked this school up, not just their website because school websites lie, but everywhere, with a proper search spider. This is very possibly the most anti-theistic school in the country!" He reached inside the top of his school shirt and drew out a small crucifix on a simple silver chain. He stared at the tiny Latin inscription on the small cross: in Christi omnia possunt - in Christ all is possible. He'd become a Christian a few years ago, surprising his atheist parents at the change. He'd been sceptical about religion for a long while, but after one of his thought sessions thinking about the place of religion and science within reality he'd decided that religion far from opposed science, but supported it. He technically was more of a theist than a Christian, but he seemed to relate to Christianity the most. He clenched the cross in his fist like he always did when he needed support. God help me! Why here!?
His mother tried to help, "Just don't mention religion and you'll be fine!"
"And just don't be too radical!" His father added.
Darren smirked and turned around, a newfound confidence in his body language. His eyes glinted as he began to slowly walk towards the buildings as other students began to arrive. He flicked a fleck of dust off his blazer's collar and when he reached the glass doors he called over his shoulder: "Radical is my middle name!" And with that entered the school.
As the Chelsea tractors began coming in sporting overdressed, pretentious, snobby little brats and their children John and Melissa stared at each other with a knowing look.
"How long?" asked John.
"Half a term."
Her husband snorted amusedly, "Ever the optimist, more like a week!"
It took a day.
Darren barrelled into the house ignoring everything before him, including a few of the stairs resulting on him falling flat on his face as he reached the landing. Regardless he threw himself off the floor and kamikazied into his bedroom, bolting the door behind him.
Expelled.
Again.
He collapsed onto his large bed, the quilt decorated with different modern fighter jets. He laid down and allowed his head to sink into the multiple thick soft pillows at the bedhead. He allowed them to comfortingly shroud his head and neck, muffling the sounds of his parents arguing over the phone with the headmaster, blocking his ears from sound, filled his nose with the sweet smell of washed fabric, and slowly willed his eyes to close and allowed comforting sleep to gently cradle him from his sorrow.
Well they did some of that right, but his sleep was far from comforting.
And his sorrow only increased.
Tails watched Darren's dreams with horror. Children and teachers alike from every school taunting him. Children wearing different uniforms mocking his physical condition and musical ability, the staff his religion and his intelligence.
Slowly, the dream mercifully faded out as the omnipresent light began to fade.
Tails' eyes flew open, blue irises expanding with the relief from the mental and physical pain. In his mind a million questions swirled, vying for his attention: who was this boy? How had he done all he had? Most important of all was why did he remind him so much of himself? Although the light was gone the cub found himself more blind and confused than ever. Only one thing was certain. He looked over at the boy and saw him for seemingly the first time.
He knew him.