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awyeahitssam · 1 month

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Harry giggles. His limbs feel lighter than usual, almost as if bubbles are making them float a bit. He can still control them, but it's a vague, interesting sort of control. Fun.

Harry lets sleep take him. The world whirls around him in sparks of disorienting colours, and Harry watches with a broad smile. It should make him dizzy, but he feels in the middle of something fantastic—a watercolour painting come to life. It's brilliant. Elating.

It stops as suddenly as it starts. Voldemort stares at him from across a desk. "Harry Potter," he sounds almost surprised.

Harry blinks at him. He still feels light, like he is floating, but also distantly sad. "Are you okay?" he asks thoughtlessly.

Confusion masks itself behind anger. Voldemort masks everything behind anger. "Pardon?"

"I’d never felt as good as I did a moment ago," Harry confesses, drawing closer to the Dark Lord. Red eyes track him suspiciously. Harry's chest aches. "But now, looking at you… it makes me so sad."

Thoughtlessly, Harry reaches out, and Voldemort lets him. It’s how Harry knows this can’t be real. That it’s just a silly, drunken dream. Their fingers intertwine, though Voldemort’s hand remains stiff and cold in his gentle grip.

"Aren’t you lonely?" Harry wonders. "Is that yours I feel pressing in, or my own? Even without you," Harry smiles, crooked and small, brushing an irreverent thumb over his scar, "I’m sure it’d be there. People always isolate the freak."

Voldemort’s hand twitches in Harry’s, and he hums, focus dropping from red eyes to trace the long fingers with his own.

"Everybody’s frightened of you. You isolate yourself from friendship, from love, from time itself... don’t you want, Voldemort? I can feel that you do—you’re never satisfied, are you? Will it ever be enough? The world at your feet, no attachments, nobody to challenge you—is that your dream, or your nightmare?"

"You’re speaking nonsense, boy," Voldemort says, but it comes out odd. Stilted. "You presume much."

"Is it presumption when I feel you?" Harry asks genuinely, brows drawing together, hand lifting to press over his heart. Voldemort is dragged with him, pulled a bit over the desk, and Harry blinks in surprise before realizing he still has a grip on the other’s hand. He lets go slowly, and Voldemort pulls back with a scowl.

"You are drunk," the wizard snaps with disgust. "You know nothing of what Lord Voldemort feels."

Harry finds the words… annoying.

"You feel so loudly, though," he returns sharply, moving forward, sliding onto Voldemort’s desk. Ink spills over—Voldemort hisses in annoyance and the stain is gone with a thought—dreams are a magic of their own—Voldemort’s forehead is cold and smooth. Harry bears the man's mark. He presses his scarred head to the smooth. Long, clawed fingers are wrapped around his wrist. His throat.

"Right here, always pressing in," Harry continues, heedless of his position, precarious as it is. "You feel so much it hurts, Voldemort. You hate so much. You’re never just happy. And I was, am, could be. So just take some, won’t you?"

Red eyes are narrow, intent, fascinated as they dart over Harry’s face, trying to gather his meaning. "How do you propose I do that?"

"How does one normally take pleasure?" Harry wonders. Voldemort grimaces, pulling away quickly, and it takes Harry’s bubbling mind a moment to put what he said to context.

"No," he chokes on a laugh, "I’m not asking you to—to snog. To fuck. Just open yourself up. You’re so good at taking, usually, but all you’re doing is giving. Don’t you want to feel like this? Light? Thrilled?"

"You don’t even know what you sound like, do you?" The question is rhetorical. Voldemort’s hand tightens over his throat, until Harry’s breathing grows thinner. "You wish for me to let your happiness pass my Occlumency, as though you have not just slipped through yourself. As if you have no method to make Lord Voldemort feel your pleasure; as if you want to give Lord Voldemort pleasure at all."

Harry touches the hand on his neck, slowly tightening with Voldemort’s rant, and a spark lights his fingers. Voldemort’s hand spasms before it drops. Harry takes a deep breath, glaring balefully. His light-hearted air has faded.

"Perhaps I would give you pleasure so your misery would be all the worse for it," he bites out. The world is fuzzy, but no longer from alcohol. From being choked. Even in his dreams, his life is threatened by this man.

"A pretty plot," says Voldemort. There is something very condescending in his voice; he is clearly looking down on Harry. Doubting him. It’s nothing new, but it makes the sting of anger grow in him. "Very well. If you can conjure happiness as you peer into the face of your death, Harry Potter, then do. Make me feel it, if you can."

Harry’s nails bite into his palm and release. He takes a breath and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses.

Happiness. What does it feel like? Like floating, as he was moments ago, or like getting an anticipated hug—not his first, not all the ones he flinched away from, but a hug from Hermione when they’ve almost just died. An arm around Ron’s waist as the boy drapes one around his shoulder. Laughing, hysterical and joyous, by the fireplace. Finding his wand. Finding out he was escaping the Dursleys. Happiness is a brief thing, drenched in the shadows of his life. Happiness is contentment, even if it is a momentary thing. It is the pleasure of a perfectly prepared cuppa; from—nonono, not going there.

Harry wraps the sensations up, one by one, like he’s re-wrapping hard candy, and throws them at Voldemort. Into Voldemort. All but one—his favourite one, his happiest one. That, he grasps, and it’s actual candy in his hand, a sweet that he looks down to, and then unwraps, and he’s moving forward, intent eyes raising, and Voldemort is already gasping, a bit, at the suddenness of it all—of pleasure.

Harry’s lips curl and he pushes the candy into the slightly agape mouth of the Dark Lord a bit cruelly, shoving it deep. He pulls back quickly, before sharp teeth can gnash on his fingers, and watches on as Voldemort experiences pleasure. As Voldemort softens, and sighs, relaxation in every hard line of him, mouth sucking almost greedily around the treasure that Harry has placed within it. Now he’s drunk on it, Harry thinks, horribly pleased to see Voldemort this way.

It’s not real, but still, he hovers on Voldemort’s desk and observes the pink brushing his cheekbones with fascination. He observes the way red eyes roll back a bit, and the way a long, pale throat swallows convulsively down on a slowly dissolving candy until there is nothing left.

Lashless eyes open, dark and suddenly staring. Red barely peeks out from behind the dilation of his pupil, and Harry’s smile is a smug thing.

“There’s your pleasure,” Harry whispers to him, like a secret. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It can only get worse from here.”

“Worse?” murmurs Voldemort, staring at Harry intently. “You think there is worse you can do, Harry, then give me that and take it back?”

Belonging, thinks Harry, quite suddenly. He’d given Voldemort his favourite thing, the thing that he had been looking for, for a very long time. Longing, and peace, and laughter, and a burgeoning happiness that had very rarely managed to emanate past its conception. He had given Voldemort, too, his desperate hope for things to get better—and then he’d made them get better—and now Voldemort had lost it all.

Suddenly, impossibly, Harry’s eyes are liquid. I’m cruel, thinks Harry, gaze falling from red. There is nothing so cruel as what he has done, and he had done it so carelessly, so happily, so smugly, because he had felt slighted. Had felt wronged by this man who had ceaselessly wronged him.

Slowly, Harry looks back up at Voldemort, who is watching his tears with an expression of keen interest.

“Has it made you sad to give your enemy your pleasure, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asks, gripping his wrist and drawing him near enough that Harry barely keeps his bottom on the desk rather than Voldemort’s lap.

“It makes me sad to treat you with such cruelty,” Harry corrects, “when I know you will never allow yourself to experience such pleasure again.”

“Would I not?” breathes Voldemort, eyes still dark instead of bright.

“You won’t,” whispers Harry. “It'd require you to trust someone. To have faith in them. And that, I know you’re incapable of, because you are a man but don’t see yourself as one, and gods do not have friends, nor equals.”

“Equals?” Voldemort’s breath brushes Harry’s brow, his stinging scar. “But what if Lord Voldemort were to draw you from the depths, Harry? Raise you from the pale mortality until you, too, are exalted? Then you may give Lord Voldemort what he so deserves; give me pleasure, Harry Potter,” Voldemort enunciates awfully. “Give me it all.”

I wrote this one of the first times I ever drank, and just expanded upon it a bit. I'm honestly really fond of finding these little things I've forgotten.

#drunk Harry #Harry/Voldemort #dream antics #dream mechanics #physical concepts #silly boys #drunken moodswings #this is kinda...#odd

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sparkles-rule-4eva · 24 days

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"Sonic vs. Tails - The Ultimate April Fools Battle"

AO3 link if you'd rather read it there ;)

6:38 a.m.

Early on a Monday morning, Sonic awoke to a rocking sensation. For a moment it was nice, soothing even, and he thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep on a hammock or something.

Except, it was in fact not soft fabric beneath him, but wooden boards.

A faint smell of salt alerted him next. Then a strong gust of wind. Then the cry of a seagull.

A seagull?!

His eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright, panic immediately flooding his chest upon seeing a huge mass of water all around him. He found himself sitting in a wooden fishing boat, smack dab in the middle of it.

He jumped up to his feet with a squeak of true fear, wobbling as the rocking of the boat nearly made him lose his balance.

He raced to the pole where the sails were attached and jumped onto it, full-body clinging to it with both arms and legs. "HOW IN MOBIUS DID I GET OUT HERE?!" he yelled indignantly, as loudly as he could for having just woken up.

A snicker sounded above him, and he jerked his head up so fast he nearly got whiplash.

And whom should he see perched atop the sails post but his little brother, Tails, his namesakes waving around and mischief practically written all over his face.

"Happy April Fools," the smug little fox greeted him, still giggling.

Sonic relaxed slightly, but shot Tails a feigned death glare. "It's on," he shot back, unable to hide a smirk.

8:23 a.m.

He had to be subtle about this. Tails was obviously very well aware what day it was. He had to be sly.

So, for his first prank of many, Sonic ran out to buy a cheap whoopie cushion, then slipped it in the Tornado's cockpit, at a perfect angle so Tails wouldn't see it until it was too late.

He was pretty proud of himself for keeping it cool, going on runs and swinging back by the workshop every few minutes to see when Tails needed to go out for a flight.

Except it was taking too long.

If he didn't get that over with, all his time to come up with more pranks for the day would be gone. And that simply wouldn't do.

"Hey, Tails!" he called from the roof, where he'd been leisurely lounging for the past five minutes. "Wanna go for a shopping run?"

After a pause of silence filled only with the sound of some metal clanging, Tails called back, "For what? I thought we were stocked."

"No, we need more— flour." He quickly improvised, having not actually checked the pantry beforehand.

"Why do we need more flour?" Tails sounded both distracted and confused as he continued whatever he was clanging around with.

"Because bread." Sonic flipped onto the ground and leaned his head through the window. "We should make bread."

Tails finally pulled back his goggles and shot him a look. "Why do you want to make bread?"

"Don't question it, Tails! Why can't I be allowed to wanna try new stuff?"

"Because it's April Fools, that's why." Tails smirked and pulled his goggles back down, studying the chunks of metal he was abusing. "There's probably a prank waiting for me at the store or something."

Sonic clasped a hand to his chest dramatically. "You seriously think I went and sabotaged public property just to pull a prank on you?!"

Without missing a beat, and without shifting his eyes from his work, Tails replied, "Yeah."

Sonic huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, I didn't. And the only way for you to see that is to come on shopping with me. I'll even let you pick the store so that you can be sure."

Tails looked at him, arching a brow and resting one hand on his hip. "You're so random," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "You realize you can go shopping by yourself, right?"

"Well, sue me for wanting to spend time with my darling little brother," Sonic pouted, trying his best to pull off a puppy-dog-eyes look.

"Since when did you become so clingy?" Tails laughed, finally setting aside his things and flying over to the window.

Finally!

"It was inevitable. You're too loveable." Sonic yanked him into a hug, right before letting him start flying towards the Tornado.

"I don't know whether to feel touched or suspici—" Tails abruptly broke off as he hopped into the cockpit, and the whoopie cushion immediately squeezed beneath him, filling the air with its awful sounds.

His face went beet red for a moment, then he closed his eyes and sighed. Sonic had already fallen over laughing, tears springing to his eyes at Tails's expression.

"Bread, huh?" Tails sounded way too calm as he turned to face his brother, but there was a terrifying glint in his eyes.

"You bet!" Sonic laughed. "Come on, what are you waiting for? Let's go get flour!"

Tails picked up the whoopie cushion and hurled it full force at the hedgehog's face.

8:52 a.m.

After the whoopie cushion incident, Tails forced Sonic to go out shopping anyway. He even managed to trick him into thinking he was doing it as an apology.

Oh, was that poor hedgehog mistaken. He was so in for it. Tails had sent him out shopping— alone— so he could set up his revenge prank.

He decided to go with a simple one. Perhaps he would save the more intricate and wild pranks for later in the day.

This one would still be personal, though.

Barely suppressing a little cackle of glee, Tails snatched a large bottle of clear super glue and generously poured it all over the welcome mat at his front door. This glue wouldn't fully dry for another twenty to thirty minutes, and since Sonic was only getting one thing from the store, he wouldn't take nearly that long.

Sure enough, five minutes after he'd laid the prank, he heard the distinct BOOM in the distance of his brother's impending arrival.

Tails already knew Sonic wasn't going to notice the glue. If it wasn't immediately obvious, and he wasn't in danger, he didn't pay attention to detail like that.

The door handle jiggled for a moment, then was followed by a banging on the door. His muffled voice called, "Tails, if you're gonna send me out to buy stuff we don't actually need, the least you could do is leave the door unlocked for me to actually give you the stuff we don't need."

"Oh, dear chaos!" Tails called back, deliberately sounding way too dramatically surprised. "How did the door lock itself?!"

It didn't matter if Sonic caught on. If he was banging on the door, it was too late for him.

"I don't like your tone, young man." Sonic definitely sounded suspicious, and Tails could barely suppress his triumphant laughter.

"Sorry, Dad." With a snicker, he unlocked the door and swept it open, where he found Sonic standing with a hefty bag of flour, shooting him a look.

He was standing right in the middle of the super glue puddle.

"Seriously, bro? Locking me outside? That's the best you g-GAAUHH!" Sonic broke off as he tried to take a step forward, only to pull the entire doormat up with his foot and lose his balance. He tried desperately to right himself, but only ended up pinwheeling his arms, losing his grip on the bag of flour, and falling square on his chest. A second later, the bag of flour came down on his head and immediately popped open upon pricking his quills.

After the flour dust settled, the two brothers looked at each other for a solid ten seconds, the younger standing tall with his arms crossed and a smug smile, the older slumped on the ground, covered in flour to the point of looking like a ghost, glaring daggers.

He sneezed. "That was low. I like my kicks."

"They'll be fine," Tails insisted, brushing off the flour that had drifted into his fur. "I've got a solution that'll cancel out the glue."

Sonic shook himself off, then stood up and sneezed again. "You owe me twenty rings for the waste of perfectly good flour that we didn't need."

Tails stuck his tongue out at him, then started blowing the spilled flour out the door with his tails.

9:35 a.m.

Sonic took a shower after the flour incident, and he made it quick enough so that Tails didn't have any time to try anything more on him, since he was still cleaning up said flour.

Once he'd gotten out and dried off, Tails brushed past him into the bathroom, and a few seconds later he heard the shower start up again.

No way there was this golden opportunity just dangling in front of him . . .

Grinning, Sonic first went to the kitchen and hit the switch for the power hose. Next time Tails went to wash the dishes, he was in for a little surprise.

Then, very quietly, he nudged the door open to the bathroom (where Tails was still in the shower), reached in, and flushed the toilet.

A second later, there was a high pitched "Yipe!" and one very startled, very wet fox kit scrambled out of the tub at the suddenly freezing water.

Sonic heard his name screeched furiously from over his shoulder as he laughed and booked it for the front door, only to catch on the doormat and faceplant the sidewalk, his socks now stuck in the super glue still coating the mat.

10:14 a.m.

He deserved this fate, Tails claimed.

"It's called revenge!" Sonic yelled through the door from where he lay on the ground outside in the yard. "Sweet, totally fair, revenge! Can I have the anti solution for the glue now?"

"Nope," Tails called back.

"C'moooon. These are my last clean socks, I can't just take them off and put on dirty ones. Do you want me to defile the house with smelly feet?"

"Ohh, manipulation. That's a new one!"

"Tails!"

"Just wear flipflops. Or go barefoot. I dunno."

"I don't like flip flops!" Sonic squirmed onto his side. "And I don't like being barefoot! Running barefoot is painful!"

"Ah, well. Guess you'd better apologize for ruining my lovely shower and forfeit all your desserts to me for the next three months, if you ever want to run again."

"Sorry, who was being manipulative?"

"You were!"

Sonic huffed. "You know, I could just do laundry. Yeah. Do laundry and be free."

"Wow!" Tails sounded way too amazed. "That's so genius!"

"I'll wash all my socks! I'll wash all the socks!" With caution, Sonic forced his way back onto his feet, then hopped inside the house, doormat still attached. "I'll be free in a matter of . . . hours." He frowned. "Hey Tails, can dish soap clean clothes? And how fast does a fur dryer dry clothes?"

Tails was standing in the kitchen, pouring the remains of the flour that hadn't touched the floor into a canister. He eyed his brother for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "There's one way to find out."

Without thinking, Sonic broke into a relieved grin and started hopping his way into the kitchen. "Good, because if I have to be stuck like this for one—"

He turned the faucet on, and immediately a powerful spray of cold water shot out at his face from the power hose. He yelped and sputtered, immediately switching it off as he suddenly realized he'd fallen for his own prank.

Or, more likely, Tails had seen right through his prank, and had made him fall for it.

Sonic looked down at him, water dripping down his face and off his quills. Tails had lost his cool composure and was doubled over, squeaking with laughter.

10:30 a.m.

"I deserved that one," Sonic grumbled, toweling off his face.

Tails sat beside him on the porch, eyes closed in smug contentment as he brushed out his tails. "Yes. You did."

Sonic turned and grinned devilishly. "You realize this isn't over, lil bro."

Tails turned a fanged smile right back on him. "Far from it."

11:04 a.m.

Sonic burst through Amy's door and immediately said, "Ames, I need a favor!"

Amy nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping her paintbrush onto the carpet. She sighed, but picked it up without complaining, set it on the ledge of her painter's stand, and gave him her attention. "What's up?"

"Sorry for that," he said quickly, then added, "Could you make a batch of chocolate chip cookies, but like, make three of them with raisins instead?"

Amy wrinkled her forehead even as she smiled. "Wait, what? Why?"

"It's April Fools. I need to get back at Tails."

"Oh, no." Amy laughed as she stood up and started heading for her kitchen. "What'd he do?"

"Oh, many things." As Amy set to making the cookies, he told her all about the events of the day so far. He told her about the pranks on both sides, just to keep it fair.

Amy was aware of their April Fools traditions. The same basic thing had happened the past two years as well.

It had been last year that they learned the hard way not to prank Knuckles. Or Shadow.

"You should really learn to bake," Amy commented as she eventually pulled the batch out of the oven. "It's really very fun! And satisfying."

"You know what'll be satisfying?" He snickered. "The look on Tails's face when he thinks he's gonna taste chocolate and tastes raisins instead!"

Amy shook her head with an amused sigh. "That too, I guess."

They hung out together for another twenty minutes or so, then Sonic bid her farewell and took off back to the workshop.

12:22 p.m.

Tails had resumed working on whatever project he'd been doing earlier that morning.

"Yo, Tails!" Sonic raced into the room, holding the container of cookies. "Amy made us cookies!"

"Ooh, she did?" Tails immediately paused what he was doing and lit up, but then suspicion clouded his face. "Wait . . . what's going on?"

"Bro, it's just cookies," Sonic laughed. "What, do you think they're poisoned?"

Tails kept hesitating, but Sonic could see him scenting the air. Since the majority of them were chocolate chip, he was detecting that— not the few raisins.

"Okay. I'll take one," he finally relented, and Sonic handed him one with raisins.

He started heading back to his project as he took a bite, but immediately stopped in his tracks. Sonic watched him stop chewing and look at the cookie for a long moment, then turn and shoot him a deadpan look.

"You're so mean," he complained, mouth still full with the bite he refused to swallow (he hated raisins). Then he tried to spit it out onto Sonic, who yelped and raced away, dropping the container of cookies on the floor.

Tails picked it up, having already figured out that most of the others were actually chocolate chip. Jokes on Sonic, now he had all the good cookies to himself.

1:01 p.m.

Their prank fest had delayed lunch a bit, so Sonic (after eventually returning) told Tails to kick back and relax while he made chili.

Tails seemed a little too pleased with the idea, but Sonic barely noticed, too hungry to care.

As he stirred through the pot, Tails watched him, grinning in anticipation for the meal. Earlier, while Sonic had been lying around the front yard with the doormat glued to his socks and complaining, Tails had switched out the salt and sugar.

Half an hour later or so, they sat down together to eat. It seemed Sonic thought they had reached a temporary truce, but oh, little did he know.

Tails deliberately took his sweet time in spooning the chili onto his hot dog, eyeing his brother in his corner vision. Sonic had made his in no time, digging in with two big bites before Tails had even finished dressing his.

Almost immediately Sonic paused, blinked a couple times, then kept chewing. Then paused again, frowning.

His eyes flicked to Tails, who quickly resumed dressing his chili dog.

Sonic finally swallowed. "That's weird."

"What's weird?" Tails asked innocently, actually being subtle this time.

"Chili tastes more like dessert." The hedgehog squinted at him. "Did you sabotage the chili cans?"

Tails sniffed. "How dare you accuse me."

"Did you?"

"No, I didn't. The cans were sealed, weren't they?"

"Hm." Sonic took another hesitant bite, but stopped again, shaking his head. "This tastes so weird. Have you tried yours?"

Tails shrugged. "Try salting it," he suggested, avoiding the question.

Sonic grabbed the salt shaker and generously covered his chili dog with its contents, then took another bite, only to actually choke over it this time.

"Okay, did you—?!" He snatched the shaker again, shook a little onto his finger, tasted it, then chucked it at Tails, who laughed and dove out of the way. "You switched the salt and sugar?!"

"Well, duh!" Tails switched to hovering over the table, snickering. "There are no truces today, dearest brother!"

Sonic threw the too-sweet chili dog at him next, inevitably splattering chili over the table.

"You're cleaning that up!" Tails called in a singsong voice. "I'm going out to Josef's Pasta Alla Paccico!"

"OH, NO YOU DON'T!"

2:10 p.m.

They both ended up eating out at Josef's, and even though they did truly call a ceasefire for a grand total of twenty-five minutes, they split the time between actually eating and blowing their straw wrappers at people, having mini sword fights with the butter knives, and constructing architecture with the plates and takeout boxes.

Needless to say, the only reason they didn't get kicked out was probably because both Sonic and Tails were practically world-renowned.

Not long after they returned to the workshop, Sonic inevitably crashed for a nap. He usually couldn't make it through a day without a nap at some point, which was always unfortunate for him on this particular day of the year.

Tails studied him where he slept, on a branch of the tree in his front yard. He knew he'd been the last one to pull something, but hey, who said they were taking turns?

There was simply no way he was passing this up.

First, he grabbed a sharpie and very carefully drew an elaborate mustache worthy of Eggman across his brother's face. He added a few random smiley faces on his cheek and arms, as well as the phrase "SLO-MO" on one shoulder.

Then he grabbed an assortment of potato chips and began carefully stacking them on his head, in his hands, on his stomach, in an entire tower.

He made sure to take pictures through the whole process, then— leaving him there to sleep, still covered in sharpie and potato chips— flew off to print the photos.

Going above and beyond, he put the printed photos in a fancy envelope, marked them as "priority mail," addressed them to Sonic's post office box, disguised himself, then dropped them off at the post office.

An hour passed after he had done all that, and Sonic finally stirred awake.

Upon seeing the stack of chips in front of him, he promptly fell out of the tree with a yelp, and Tails started giggling.

"What did you do to me?" Sonic whined, brushing all the crumbs off his head and chest as he stood up, still groggy.

"You think that's bad?" Tails teased. "Go check the mirror."

A look of horror filled his brother's eyes, then he was gone in a flash. Tails kept giggling, and laughed harder when he heard the yell from inside: "WHY DID YOU MAKE ME LOOK LIKE EGGFACE?!"

"It's called revenge!" Tails called back gleefully. "Sweet, totally fair, revenge!"

Sonic came storming back outside. "How dare you use my own words against me."

"Sorry," Tails told him insincerely.

His brother scrubbed at his cheek. "How long will it take for this to wash off?"

Tails shrugged. "A couple days, probably."

Sonic's resulting screech was loud enough to startle away all the nearby flickies.

4:32 p.m.

Sonic spent at least half an hour in the bathroom desperately trying to scrub the marker out of his fur, but only succeeded in making it fade a little.

"Taking advantage of my sleep cycle," he huffed, reaching out to mess up Tails's bangs from where the fox kit sat on the couch. "So rude."

Tails tried to fix his bangs, while Sonic flopped onto the other end of the couch. "Consider it payback for you dyeing my fur green last year."

"You still looked cool, at least!" Sonic protested. "If Egghead sees me like this, I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"I looked like a lime!" Tails shot back. "I had to hide from society for an entire month!"

"It wasn't a month."

"Three and a half weeks. Close enough."

"Mm."

Tails shot him a look, and Sonic reached over to mess up his bangs again. He was rewarded with a throw pillow to the face.

Sonic threw it back, and it was just about to escalate into a fully fledged pillow fight when the doorbell rang.

Both of them froze, and Sonic zipped away in a flash. "I'm not here! You don't know me! If anyone asks, I'm in Holoska on a nice, arctic vacation!"

"Chicken!" Tails taunted after him, then flew over to the door and pulled it open to find Amy and Knuckles standing on the other side.

(Thankfully, the super glue had dried hours before.)

"Hey, guys!" he greeted them, stepping back to let them in. "What's the occasion?"

Amy said sweetly, "We just wanted to make sure you and Sonic were doing okay!" at the same time Knuckles said, "We came to supervise."

Tails rolled his eyes. "We don't need babysitters."

Amy glanced around. "Did Sonic leave?"

Knuckles frowned as Tails snickered. "I guess he did. He's telling everyone he's going to Holoska."

"You can't stop me!" Sonic's muffled voice shouted from somewhere towards the back of the workshop.

"Nobody's trying!" Tails called back, his voice catching on a laugh. "Just be sure to warn Jari-Pekka about your new look!"

"New look?" Knuckles echoed.

Amy facepalmed. "What did you do to him?"

Tails waved a hand flippantly. "It'll come off in a few days."

"And this is why we thought you two needed supervision," Knuckles groaned. "Today always gets out of hand."

"Do we need to separate you two?" Amy asked, although she was grinning.

Sonic chose that moment to burst explosively out of the closet, zip to his brother's side, and pull him close in a protective hug. "No, don't separate us!" he insisted, forcing a huge smile. "Everything's going just fine!"

Knuckles and Amy took a solid ten seconds to stare at Tails's artwork all over Sonic's face, then started laughing, albeit good-naturedly.

Tails grinned at where he was still trapped in his brother's hold, only to start violently trying to squirm away when said brother slipped a sharpie out of hiding and started drawing his revenge on the fox's face.

6:00 p.m.

Knuckles and Amy chose to spend the rest of the day at the workshop with them, just to make sure things didn't get any crazier than they already had. By the time dinnertime arrived, both Sonic and Tails had sharpie all over their faces, although the "art" on Tails's face could hardly be called as such. Because of his squirming during the whole process, it was nothing more than random scribbles of blue in random places on his face.

"Next year I'll dye you blue," Sonic promised him as the four of them had dinner together (after Amy switched back the salt and sugar). "We can match!"

"Pass." Tails swallowed his bite. "I'll just look like some kind of mutant smurf."

Sonic snickered. "All the more reason to do it, then!"

Amy groaned. "Boys . . ."

"Hey, we should rope you into this!" Sonic exclaimed suddenly, staring straight at Amy.

"If you want a hammer to the face next, feel free!" Amy stuck her tongue out at him, although she had to hide a giggle.

"As long as you leave me out of it, do whatever you want," Knuckles put in wearily, sounding much like a parent tired of trying to control his children.

Tails smiled at all of them. Knuckles was right; this day was always crazy, and sure, things got out of hand sometimes. But he had no regrets. It was fun. It was a stupid way of bonding with his brother, and that was something he would never regret.

A Happy April Fools Day, indeed.

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