The war often returned to Gadget in his sleep, not as a scream, but as a silence.
It was the silence of the vacuum, the breathless void of Null Space where up was down and the air tasted like purple static. He was falling, endlessly falling, watching his friends dissolve into cubes of red light, their mouths open in cries he couldn't hear.
Then, a sound broke the void. THUD.
Gadget's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, sitting bolt upright in his bed, his sheets tangled around his legs like a trap. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic thump that drowned out the ticking of the clock on his nightstand.
He froze, straining his ears against the darkness of his bedroom. The house was quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic drumming of rain against the windowpane, a gentle wash of white noise that usually lulled him to sleep.
Maybe it was a dream, he told himself, rubbing his face with his palms. Just the wind. A branch hitting the siding.
He waited. Five seconds. Ten.
Then, he heard it again. Fainter this time. A scraping sound, like something heavy sliding down the wood of his front door.
Gadget was out of bed in an instant. He didn't grab the Wispon. He didn't reach for a weapon. The sound hadn't been aggressive; it had been heavy, dead weight. It sounded like someone falling.
He moved down the stairs, pulling his robe tighter around himself against the chill of the house. The floorboards were cold under his paws. He reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room bathed in the gray, watery light of the streetlamps outside.
He stared at the front door. It wasn't moving. The lock was still engaged.
He took a breath, stepped closer, and peered through the peephole.
Nothing but rain and the dark shape of the porch railing.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "Is anyone there?"
Silence answered him.
He unlocked the deadbolt, his movements slow and hesitant. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.
The wind howled, blowing a spray of cold rain into the entryway. Gadget shivered, squinting into the gloom. At first, he saw nothing.
Then, he looked down.
The breath left his lungs in a sharp, pained wheeze.
There was a body on his doormat.
It was a crumpled heap of black fur and wet fabric, curled in on itself like a dying bird. It didn't move. The rain lashed against it, soaking the fur, but the stranger didn't even twitch.
Gadget stepped closer, the streetlamp illuminating the figure. He saw the white stripes on the back. He saw the long, bushy tail, now matted with mud and blood. And then, as a flash of lightning illuminated the porch, he saw the face.
Or rather, the metal that covered it.
Gadget stopped. He didn't raise his hands in defense. He didn't recoil in terror. He just stared, his mind struggling to process the image in front of him.
Infinite. The name floated in his mind, but it didn't carry the weight of fear anymore. It carried a heavy, crushing disbelief.
"How..." Gadget breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "How are you still..."
He fell to his knees on the wet concrete, ignoring the rain soaking his pajamas. He hovered his hands over the body, afraid to touch, afraid that if he did, the illusion would shatter. This wasn't a monster. This was a wreck.
Gadget's eyes traveled over the form. He saw the unnatural angle of the left leg. He saw the jagged, terrible scar on the chest where the Ruby used to be. He saw the way the jackal's chest hitched with shallow, rattling breaths that sounded like a death rattle.
The fear that gripped Gadget now wasn't for his own life. It was a deep, sickening lurch in his stomach at the sheer amount of suffering he was looking at. How had he walked here? How had he survived the tower falling? The sheer tenacity required to keep breathing in this state was terrifying in its own right.
"You poor thing," Gadget whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
He reached out and touched Infinite's shoulder. The jackal was freezing—cold as the stone beneath him.
"I've got you," Gadget muttered, his medic instincts overriding his shock. "I've got you."
He grabbed Infinite under the arms. He was lighter than Gadget expected—alarmingly so. It felt like lifting a bundle of hollow bones and wet cloth. Gadget grunted, digging his heels into the mat, and dragged him backward.
It was a clumsy rescue. Infinite's boots scraped over the threshold, leaving a trail of mud and water on the hardwood floor. Gadget pulled him fully inside and kicked the door shut, sealing out the wind.
The silence returned, but it was different now. It was heavy with the smell of rain and old blood.
Gadget stood there for a second, panting, staring down at the "Ultimate Mercenary" lying helpless on his hallway rug. There was no malice in the figure. Just brokenness.
He knelt down and hooked his arms under Infinite's knees and back. With a strain that made his own back pop, he lifted the jackal into his arms. He carried him into the living room and lowered him onto the beige sofa, flinching as the mud stained the fabric, but caring less about the furniture than the shivering life on it.
Gadget went to work. He moved with the autopilot efficiency of the soldier he used to be. He grabbed his first aid kit, towels, and warm water.
When he returned, Infinite hadn't moved. He looked small against the cushions.
Gadget cut away the ruined fabric of the pant leg, wincing in sympathy at the sight of the infection. "This must have hurt so much," he murmured softly, cleaning the wound with gentle, steady hands. "You walked on this?"
He applied antiseptic, wrapped it tightly in clean gauze, and elevated the leg on a throw pillow.
Then, he turned his attention to the rest of him. He used a warm, damp towel to wipe the mud from the jackal's fur. He cleaned the grime from the white stripes on his back. As he worked, he realized how thin Infinite was. He could count the ribs under the wet bodysuit.
Then, Gadget's hand paused near the face.
The mask was shattered. The left side was gone, revealing a closed eye and a patch of dark fur scarred by soot. The right side was a cracked plate of silver.
Gadget held the towel, his heart aching. He knew he should check for head trauma. He knew he should take the metal off to clean the wounds underneath.
But then he saw the way Infinite's head was tucked down, chin to chest, even in unconsciousness. Hiding. Even in his sleep, he was trying to hide what he was.
Gadget pulled his hand back. He wouldn't strip him of his last defense. Not while he couldn't say no.
"It's okay," Gadget said softly. "I won't look. You're safe."
He gently wiped the mud from the exposed fur on the left side of the face, careful not to touch the jagged edges of the metal. He finished by draping a thick, wool blanket over the jackal, tucking it securely around his shoulders.
Gadget sat back on his heels, exhausted, staring at the rise and fall of the blanket.
"You're alive," Gadget whispered to the room, shaking his head. "Against all odds, you're alive."
The sun didn't burst into the room; it crept in.
Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, turning the gray shadows into warm, dusty gold. The storm had passed, leaving the world outside quiet and dripping.
Zero drifted up from the darkness slowly.
There was no pain. That was the first thing he noticed. The screaming agony in his leg had been dialed down to a dull, throbbing ache. The freezing cold that had bitten into his bones for months was gone, replaced by a weight that felt... soft. Warm.
Am I dead? he wondered. Is this the end?
He took a breath. It smelled like coffee.
His single working eye snapped open. He wasn't staring at the sky. He was staring at a ceiling fan spinning lazily above him.
Zero stiffened. The memories of the night before crashed into him… The walk, the pain, the door, the collapse.
He tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, drained of all adrenaline. He looked down. He was covered in a blanket. A thick, knitted thing with a pattern of pine trees. He looked at his leg. It was clean. Bandaged. Resting on a pillow.
Someone touched me.
The realization made his skin crawl, not with anger, but with a sudden, crushing wave of shame.
He looked around the room. It was domestic. Normal. Safe.
And then he saw him.
Through the archway, in the kitchen, a red wolf was standing by the counter, pouring coffee into two mugs.
Zero's breath hitched. He knew that wolf. The Rookie. The Hero.
Zero didn't hiss. He didn't growl. He didn't reach for a weapon that didn't exist. Instead, he shrank.
He pulled the blanket up higher, pressing his back against the cushions of the sofa, trying to make himself as small as physically possible. The fight had left him a long time ago. Now, faced with the person who had defeated him, seeing himself bandaged and cared for by his enemy, Zero felt a humiliation deeper than death. He saw me, Zero thought, panic fluttering in his chest. He saw me broken. He dragged me in.
He touched his face, feeling the broken mask. He saw this, too.
Zero lowered his head, curling his tail around himself, wishing he could simply dissolve into the cushions. He had lost the war. He had lost his power. And now, he had lost the dignity of dying alone. He was a charity case for the Resistance.
The sound of a spoon clinking against ceramic echoed from the kitchen. Gadget turned around, holding the mugs.
He stopped when he saw Zero sitting up.
For a moment, silence hung between them. But it wasn't the silence of a standoff.
Zero stared at Gadget with wide and fearful eyes, the exposed blue one darting away, unable to hold the wolf's gaze. He looked like a cornered animal that knew it had no teeth left to bite with.
Gadget stared back. He didn't look triumphant. He didn't look scary. He looked... concerned.
"Oh," Gadget said softly, his voice gentle, as if speaking to a frightened child. "You're awake." Zero wanted to say something defiant. He wanted to be the monster one last time. But the words died in his throat.
"I..." Zero's voice was a broken rasp of static, barely audible. He looked down at his bandaged leg, then back at the floor, unable to look Gadget in the face. "I'm sorry."
It wasn't an apology for the war. It was an apology for being here. For being a burden. For being alive.
Gadget's expression softened even more. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, keeping his movements telegraphed and non-threatening.
"Here" Gadget said, offering the mug. "It's just coffee. Drink. You're shaking…”
Zero looked at the steaming mug as if it were a grenade.
His hand, the one not clutching the blanket to his chest, trembled as he reached out. The black leather of his glove was stained and worn, a stark contrast to the cheerful, bright yellow ceramic of the mug. He took it, his fingers brushing against Gadget's fur for a fleeting second. Zero flinched at the contact, the warmth of another living being feeling electric and wrong.
Gadget didn't react to the flinch. He just stepped back, giving the jackal space, and sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa. He blew on his own coffee, his eyes lowered, clearly trying to make himself look less like a guard and more like a companion.
Zero brought the mug to his lips. He had to tilt his head awkwardly, sliding the bottom edge of the broken mask up just enough to expose his mouth. The movement was clumsy, a sharp reminder of the cage he had built for himself. The coffee was hot, bitter, and grounded him in reality.
"Why?"
The question clawed its way out of Zero's throat again, stronger this time. He lowered the mug, his single blue eye fixing on the wolf.
Gadget looked up, adjusting his glasses. "Why coffee? It's a dark roast, I thought it might help with the…"
"No," Zero interrupted, the static in his voice snapping. "Why am I here? Why are you doing this?"
He gestured vaguely at the bandages, the blanket, the room.
"I am... I was Infinite," Zero hissed, though the name felt like ashes in his mouth now. "The Resistance has patrols sweeping the sectors for me. They want me dead. Or worse." He tightened his grip on the mug until his knuckles turned white. "You are a hero. You are supposed to turn me in. You are supposed to finish it."
Gadget went quiet. He took a slow sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. He didn't look like a soldier in that moment. He looked like the civilian he had been before Eggman's war forced a weapon into his hand.
"They do want you," Gadget admitted, his voice soft. "Sonic, Knuckles, the Commander... they'd probably want you in a cell. Maybe they're right."
Zero stiffened, waiting for the trap to spring.
"But," Gadget continued, looking Zero straight in the eye, "I saw you on the porch. I didn't see a general. I didn't see a monster." He gestured to Zero's shattered leg. "I saw someone dying in the rain."
Gadget leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I've seen enough death, Zero. I've seen enough friends disappear. I'm tired of it. If I had left you there... if I had called a patrol while you were bleeding out... I wouldn't have been any better than the things we fought against."
Zero stared at him. The logic was alien. It was weak. It was... overwhelmingly kind.
"You are a fool," Zero whispered, though the bite was gone from his tone. "I destroyed your city. I hurt you."
"I know," Gadget said. He didn't deny it. He didn't brush it off. "But the war is over. And right now, in this house, you're not an enemy. You're just a guest who needs to heal."
A guest.
The word hung in the air, heavy and absurd. Zero slumped back against the cushions, the shame burning hotter than the fever he had nursed for weeks. He felt small. He felt pathetic. To be saved by his enemy was one thing; to be forgiven or at least, to be treated with mercy was a torture he was not prepared for.
He looked away, staring at the rain streaks on the window. "I have nothing to give you," Zero mumbled. "I have no information. I have no power. The Ruby is gone. I am... empty."
"I didn't ask for anything," Gadget said.
The wolf stood up, setting his mug on a coaster. "I'm going to make some toast. And maybe some eggs. You look like you haven't eaten in a month."
Zero didn't answer. He watched Gadget retreat into the kitchen, the mundane sounds of a refrigerator opening and a stove igniting filling the silence.
Zero looked down at his reflection in the dark liquid of the coffee. The fractured yellow lens stared back at him, distorted and broken.
What am I supposed to do now?
He couldn't leave. His leg was useless, and he had nowhere to go. The Empire was dust. His squad was a memory. He was trapped in this warm, pine-scented purgatory with a wolf who refused to hate him.
A few minutes later, Gadget returned with a plate. Two slices of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. He set it on the coffee table in front of Zero.
"Eat," Gadget ordered gently.
Zero looked at the food. His stomach cramped with a sudden, violent hunger, but he hesitated. To eat, he would have to lift the mask further. He would have to show more of his face. He would have to be vulnerable.
Gadget seemed to realize the problem.
"I need to go check the mail," Gadget said suddenly, his voice rising a pitch, his eyes darting toward the window. "And... uh... check the perimeter. Make sure no one saw us last night."
He turned his back on Zero, walking toward the front hallway, but paused at the archway, one hand resting on the frame. He turned back, though he kept his eyes respectfully averted from Zero's face.
"Oh, and..." Gadget pointed a thumb over his shoulder, down the darkened hallway. "The bathroom is the second door on the left. There are clean towels in the cabinet. If you want to take a shower... feel free. The hot water works." He gestured vaguely at the breakfast tray. "And don't worry about the mess. Just leave the dishes on the coffee table. I'll wash them when I get back."
"And lastly, take your time," Gadget added softly. "I'll be outside for a while."
Then he was gone, the front door clicking shut behind him, leaving only the sound of the rain dripping from the eaves.
Zero was alone in the room.
He looked at the closed door, then down at the steaming food. Tears, hot and unbidden, pricked at the corner of his exposed eye. He hated this. He hated being weak. He hated that the Red Wolf knew exactly what he needed. Not just food, but dignity.
With a trembling hand, Zero reached up. He didn't just unlatch the bottom this time. His fingers found the primary release mechanisms behind his ears. The metal was cold, slick with condensation, and stubborn, but with a sharp click, the seals hissed open.
He took a breath, bracing himself, and pulled.
The mask, the one that caused so much terror, the face of Infinite, the face of the monster. It just all came away.
The cool air of the living room hit his damp, matted fur for the first time in months. Zero blinked, both eyes now exposed to the soft morning light. One blue, one yellow. Both tired. He stared at the object in his hands. It was just a piece of painted metal now. A broken prop from a play that had ended in tragedy.
He set the mask down on the coffee table next to the plate of eggs. It sat there, hollow and staring at the ceiling, while Zero turned his attention to the food.
He picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. It tasted like butter and salt. It tasted like life.
As he ate, sitting alone in the shadow of the hero's home, the reality of his situation settled over him like a heavy coat. The Wolf had told him to eat. The Wolf had told him to shower.
It felt alien to be cared for, but underneath the confusion was a deep, ingrained instinct of self-preservation. He was a prisoner here, even if the cage was made of kindness. He couldn't afford to be ungrateful. He couldn't afford to make the Red Wolf angry. If Gadget wanted him clean, he would be clean.
When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gripped the armrest of the sofa and forced himself to stand. His leg throbbed, a sharp, biting reminder of his mortality, but the bandages held firm.
He looked down at the empty plate. Gadget had told him to leave it. “Don't worry about the mess.”
But Zero couldn't do that. He had taken the warmth, the shelter, and the food. He couldn't leave a mess for his savior to clean up. It was the only currency he had left to pay with.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zero picked up the plate and the empty mug. He limped heavily toward the kitchen, leaning his hip against the wall for support with every other step.
The kitchen was small and smelled of roasted coffee. Zero made his way to the counter. There, sitting near the sink, was Gadget's own mug, still unwashed, a small ring of dark coffee at the bottom.
Zero exhaled slowly. With a gentle clatter, he placed his yellow mug and empty plate neatly right beside Gadget's.
He looked at the two cups sitting side by side. It was a small thing. A meaningless thing to anyone else. But to Zero, it was a truce.
He turned away from the counter, dragging his injured leg across the linoleum, and made his way down the hall toward the second door on the left.