A/N: You know that thing where artists will go back and redraw their old work to see their growth? I wanted to try that with fic so like. I remembered a fic i wrote TEN fucking years ago and decided to rewrite it without reading the original, and here it is! I hope y'all enjoy and I will be uploading the original as a second chapter to this fic so y'all can also see how i've grown as an author! (And remember, comments are always appreciated!)

The theater's lights brighten slowly, preventing the headache he knew would bloom had they been flicked on without warning. He stands and stretches, toes to the floor and gloved hands to the ceiling, before following the line of people out. Fingers tighten around his arm, though, and stop him in his tracks.

"You're not running away so soon, are you Sonic?" Ah, that voice. The voice that haunts dreams and nightmares alike. Amy's voice. "Let's at least talk about the movie, just a little bit," she whines. Her next words are bright and cheery. "How about over some chili dogs? My treat."

How's that old saying go? The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Yeah, he can definitely see that. His stomach growls in anticipation, drawing a laugh from Amy and a sheepish smile from himself. She moves ahead of him now, tugging at his arm.

"Since when do you lead?" Sonic asks.

"Since when do you follow?" Amy retorts. "You were holding up the line."

Sonic looks, but there's no one behind them; in fact there's no one at all. Just row upon row of empty seats — he can't find even a single piece of popcorn littering the floor, and his shoes don't stick in dried puddles of spilled soda. Were there ever any other people here?

His thoughts are dashed by the absence of heat on his arm — Amy's released him to throw open the double doors with more than a little flair. They step out into grass and wind, into a hazy sky of purplish-pink, into the promise of a midnight storm. The sun is but a line in the distance, stealing away for its nightly nap, taking his ease with it. He stares for a long moment, his ears picking up the sound of scuffing shoes and distant cries.

A flick on his nose brings him back to the present, and he turns with a scowl. "What was that for, Amy?" Sonic huffs, accepting the offered hotdog. He's not even sure when they arrived at the stand — surely he hadn't been that lost in his own thoughts? He remembers walking out of the theater and–

"I asked what you thought of the movie," Amy interrupts again. "This is like the fifth time."

Oh.

"Oh." The movie was about… damn. He can't remember. He's never been one to sit quietly and enjoy things — even if he was in one of those moods, he wouldn't pick a movie to relax to. He preferred warm, sunny days spent napping under the shade of trees far older and more secluded than any city.

"Don't tell me you fell asleep!" Amy groans. "I even let you pick."

"Why'd you bring me to the movies anyway, Ames? You know I don't do well with this kind of thing."

She tilts her head, ears flicking as she thinks. "Didn't you choose the date?" she asks, innocent confusion on her face. "I offered a picnic and you chose a movie."

Sonic scoffs. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

Amy frowns. "Yeah, I guess not," she mumbles, looking down. Then she lifts her chin, eyes scanning the air above them. "How about some stargazing, then?"

Ice. Ice so cold it burns. His fingers are numb, but he can still feel the heat rolling through his veins.

Sonic gasps. The sun is gone completely, the sky dark and empty. Dread coils in his stomach, painful enough to blur his vision. He drops to his knees and stares at the ground, clutching the fur above his heart. Chili splatters across the dirt, reddish-brown even in the silver moonlight.

"Sonic?" he hears, the name echoing from miles away. He knows he can't look, he shouldn't look. But he can feel the weight on his shoulders — he can feel the worried gaze. He knows he shouldn't look.

But he does.

He can't even see her. The moon is too bright.

Too bright, too big, too full.

The ice gives way, and all he feels is the burn. Muscles swell and bones splinter, and it takes every ounce of strength to breathe through the pain.

He pushes her back, but she's already seen. She already knows. Words are hard to fit through his fangs, but he tries anyway — an explanation, a reassurance, anything that makes her less scared. He's not sure how well she receives his warbled words, he can't bring himself to look at her.

Not until she whimpers, at least. Only then can he drag his gaze from the grass to meet hers.

She's cupping one eye with both hands. Blood flows from between the fingers, staining red where it drops to her shaking knees.

"Amy…" he manages, and she jumps at the sound of her name.

"S-stay back!" she yells, scooting backwards. Her hand comes between them, the red glowing in her palm.

"Amy, please, just let me explain–"

"Monster," she whispers, the word a sword that stings in his chest. "Stay away." A second sword joins the first. "I don't want anything to do with you." His lungs are poked through with holes, his heart full of cold metal.

Amy stands and runs, each step adding another blade to the collection.

"I'm not a monster," he says to the wind. But he can feel the contradiction of his bones. The dark desires that pulse through his veins. A second Sonic, trying to take control.

He chases after her with a roar. He's aware of nothing now — nothing save for the pounding of his arms and legs.

I'm not a monster! he wants to scream.

Another roar spills from his throat, throwing spittle into the air. Her scent — oranges and vanilla and coffee — he follows her scent. Not sure where else to turn, he has to find her. If anyone can understand, it's her. Just around that corner–

(No.)

He comes to, aware of nothing but blood.

(No, no.)

He gags on the stench of it — that's the first thing he gets back, a working nose — and he dreads the bath it'll take to get the smell out of his fur. He can feel it now, the sticky warmth collecting under his claws. He's not sure why he's coated in blood, but he pulls his hand off the ground–

(It can't be!)

And freezes at the gasp it elicits.

(No!)

Sonic shakes away the darkness blurring his vision.

(no…)

Amy lay prone below him, her shoulders shaking. Gashes crisscross her back, blood and gore oozing from them. Several cut deep enough to see the shine of bone.

He drops to his knees, hand extended to her. She cries when she sees it, trying to crawl away. But the movement pulls at her wounds, tears them further, so she stops with a sob. Red stained words spill from her mouth, hushed and broken, and it takes Sonic a minute to realize she's pleading for her life.

"Sonic," she breathes, "please… save me."

"Amy…" His voice is his own again. He flips her over, holds her close, ignores the way his gloves press on her wounds. She arches her back, trying to escape the scrape of his hands. She finds relief in leaning forward, letting her head fall against his chest.

"S… sorry, Sonic," she mumbles, "I know you hate…" she draws in a shaky breath, "cuddling and stuff."

Cuddling. She's worried about cuddling. Her life is flowing from her body one drop at a time, and she's worried about him.

"No prob, Ames." His voice breaks, and can't say anything else. Why can't he say anything else?! The words lodge in his throat, falling from his tongue in a strained rush. "I… a hospital! I'll get you to a hospital–"

He gathers her in his arms, tucking an arm below her knees while the other cradles her back. It makes her wince, but she doesn't protest; instead she buries her face in his fur.

He hates that she doesn't wrap her arms around his neck.

He runs, trying not to jostle her. There's a hospital just around the corner; a memory from long ago guides him.

The doors are locked, the windows dark.

He bangs against them — surely someone is inside, a doctor, or nurse; hell, a working phone would do. Anything as long as he can get some help.

But no one answers. He speeds off. Crimson dots the ground behind him, glowing along the dark street. Building after building pass as he skims the signs, searching for a doctor. He finds several empty offices, closed for the night.

An emergency room appears before him, the lights stinging his eyes. He rushes through the door, a demand on the tip of his tongue.

No one is there to hear him. No secretary in reception, no patients in waiting, no nurses or doctors. He checks the offices and exam rooms, at the nurse's station and dispensary, but he can't find anyone.

On to the next location, then. He runs back out and slips, sliding through dew-slick grass and pools of blood. Amy falls from his grip and rolls away, unmoving once she stops.

Sonic crawls to her, shuffling on his hands and knees. He pulls her up, and her head lolls back, eyes half closed and mouth half open. He presses an ear to her chest, holding his breath in hopes of finding hers.

The subtle whoosh of her heartbeat is gone. Her skin grows cold under his fingers. Her chest falls, one final word escaping her.

"Sonic…"

"No!" He presses his hands to her cheeks, holding her up. His forehead meets hers, and he screws his eyes shut, unwilling to watch the light leave her, even though he knows he should. This is his fault, after all. He's the one who killed her.

He killed her. Oh, Chaos, he killed Amy Rose.

His heart pumps wildly in his chest, a second beat for every one hers missed. He kneels above her, staring at his hands, his gloves sticky and red.

He screams. Loud, raw, chilling cries of forgiveness, of despair, of desperation. His lungs burn and his throat scratches, feelings that carry over as Tails shakes him awake.

He bats Tails away, fingers curled into his palms. He can't take anymore– his claws would– he would–

He stares into the ceiling of Tails' workroom, gasping for air.

"Are you alright?" asks Tails from the floor.

Sonic lifts his hands to his face.

His gloves are white. Spotless. Pristine, even. So incredibly different that he has to blink away the after images of blood.

"Sonic…?"

He sits up, then holds his head in one hand. "What time is it?" he asks, voice raspy.

"A little after two," Tails answers. "You fell asleep after lunch, remember? Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just a bad dream." His head pops up. "What's Amy up to today?"

Tails hesitates, one brow raised above the other. "Girl time with Cream," he says slowly.

Sonic lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Great! I'm just gonna hop on over–"

He's gone before he even finishes. Tails watches the blur fade with a worried frown, then looks around. The blanket pools at the bottom of the couch, and its cushions have been launched across the room. That wasn't what drove Tails to wake Sonic, though; it was the strangled cry that choked its way out of him.

=•=•=•=

Her garden was watered, the weather was nice, and Cream brought her mother's heavenly homemade cookies. All in all, a perfect way to spend an afternoon. She takes a bite and can't help but to sigh.

"It's so perfect," Amy says. "You've got to tell me her secret ingredient."

Cream giggles. "It's all in the oranges! She only uses fresh ones that she picked herself."

"Then she'll have to teach me how. I can never find the right ones." She pops another cookie in her mouth and chews. "Mm-mm-mm! I need to know how to make these orange creamsicle cookies!"

She reaches for another — the last one, actually — but it gets snatched away in a gust of wind. "Delicious!" she hears from behind her, and she whips her head around, already glaring despite the way her heart races.

"Sonic!" she shouts. "That was rightfully mine!"

He shrugs, amused grin on his face. "Too slow, Ames."

"You weren't even invited! This is a 'girls only' day!"

"Aw, come on Amy! I thought I was your hero!" He grins wider and holds up his arms, flexing nonexistent muscles.

Amy rolls her eyes and pushes up her short sleeves. "That's not impressive, Sonic," she says as she lifts her left arm. "This is." She flexes, and her own muscles bulge out, easily twice the size of his — if not more.

Cream watches Sonic as they continue to bicker. There's something about him — his entire demeanor — that's changed since he arrived. She tilts her head as she ponders it. His quills, maybe; they were puffed up when he got here, but now they've calmed, returned to normal. The line of his shoulders, too; they're less tense than before, as is his posture as a whole.

But perhaps it's his eyes that have changed most. His brow was furrowed, just the tiniest bit, until Amy turned to face him. Even now, as she mocks what he's saying, his face softens almost imperceptibly. And the light in his eyes slowly glows brighter, glinting in the sun. He laughs at Amy's tongue, stuck out in a display of immaturity.

A slow smile spreads across Cream's face. She rests her head in her hands, propped against the table. "You don't have anything better to do?"

"Not really," says Sonic.

"Except interrupting tea time with my best friend," Amy scoffs.

"Great!" Cream smiles at them both. "Girl time's over!" she says, "I think I'll head out so that you two can enjoy your date!"

She leaves, laughing at the sound of their sputtered denials.