Chapter Text
Shadow wasn't contented with the current head chef. It wasn't his face—definitely not, although it looked punchable, and it wasn't his lack of taste, although all of these were deplorable as well. Shadow was focused on more important things. Like, attitude. Or the way he was absolutely ridiculous. Insufferable. Annoying.
Nobody made Shadow's quills fray like Sonic did. He was fast, Shadow will give him that, but he wanted Shadow to go slower. How was that possible? He felt like Shadow was grilling all that meat "too quickly" and that it was "just not seasoned enough". Shadow didn't want to say anything about how his taste buds had likely died off a little from drinking black coffee and munching coffee beans behind the pantry when nobody was looking. It couldn't possibly be that bad.
Shadow was convinced his cooking and grilling was very good. Superior, in fact, and this new hedgehog—head chef or whatever—wasn't going to ruin that for him.
Sonic was a soup master. He made boring stuff like congee, although sometimes he helped out with real cooking. Shadow didn't deny he had experience and, ugh, skill—but his attitude was a real problem.
He was smug. Shadow didn't like that.
He smiled too much. For what? Shadow didn't like that either. Was there that much to be grinning about? Weirdo.
He was always lazy yet quick. It was annoying, like he was doing exactly what he expected Shadow to do but better. Shadow needed to be quick, but he needed to time it just right, and it seemed like Sonic was the expert at that.
"Well, you're not the head chef," Knuckles tells Shadow one day, after listening to him complain through a smoke break. That catches Shadow off-guard. The gall to say that, to his face. He almost drops his cigarette right out his mouth.
"What?" Shadow asks, eyes squinting in disbelief.
"You're actually siding with him?"
"I think he's quite likeable." Knuckles says, and looks Shadow over. "No offense."
Shadow was taking all the offense. He never told Knuckles any of his grievances after that. Sucks to have a workplace full of cowards. He can't gossip with anybody! So maybe it's Shadow's problem. There's nobody to complain to now except maybe the new fellow that's coming to replace Sonic for a little when Sonic goes on leave for a few days. Shadow heard Sonic fought the management to not have that guy replace him. Shadow doesn't know what's the big deal. It's just a few days. What could possibly go wrong?
Shadow doesn't need to wonder for long. Before he knows, it's already just a week before Sonic's leave.
Now, he would never admit it—but Shadow's admittedly slowed down. A little. Only for the good of the customers and the pursuit of their ultimate satisfaction with his dishes. Shadow didn't just grill, he also fried, and occasionally baked meat. He was in charge of the meat in the kitchen, while Knuckles would handle the pastries behind him. They worked together in that small, cramped space together with Sonic.
Sometimes they got complaints. Often they got compliments. It was shameful, but one of those negative reviews had wormed its way into Shadow's head recently.
It hit home, a little.
The customer hadn't been nice. Not like the handsome guy with fluffy white fur Shadow sometimes sees in the afternoon when he comes out of the kitchen for his lunch break—who always orders apple pie, with some maple syrup, not that he had any reason to be memorizing any of that. After all, he wasn't making any of that stuff. The customer had been dry, sarcastic even, and borderline insulting. Seeing a lady like Amy who worked hard standing hours a day get talked down to in that condescending manner was infuriating for any of the kitchen staff who'd known her for a day, to say the least. Putting any kind of ego aside, Shadow heard the words "this meat is uncooked" and knew he was responsible for part of the problem.
So he put in a little more effort, tried to be slightly more mindful. There were differences between the kinds of meat being served to customers even if it was all clean, delicious in various forms, and cooked (or uncooked) to ensure ultimate satisfaction.
What he didn't expect was that blue nuisance complimenting him on it.
"Hey, Shadow."
Shadow didn't reply to that. The kitchen was clearing out a little. Amy was taking orders, and Knuckles was on his break. Sonic and him were the only ones in the kitchen.
Sonic's lip only quirked upwards in an amused smirk. He knew Shadow was listening, anyway. The meat on the grill sizzled as Shadow fixed his eyes on it and flipped it gently with the tong.
"Just wanted to say you've been doing a great job, you know."
That made a disgusted expression lurch right out onto Shadow's face instantly. Sonic looked at it and laughed out loud.
"What kind of face is that? Never heard a compliment before?"
"Not from you." Shadow replied coldly, like he was stacking invisible walls up between him and Sonic in the little fifteen centimeters between them.
"First of many." Sonic promised then, and Shadow moved his face an inch away to make sure he won't be affected by the little bit of sugar and probably severely unhealthy palm oil present in Sonic's little "compliment".
"No thanks."
"I've never met someone who'd refuse a compliment."
"First of many."
Sonic snorted. He leaned in, and his arms took up the space present around Shadow's waist that give him that slim, somewhat hourglass-y look, as Sonic caged him against the stove, which was pretty unprofessional of a head chef. Or any chef, for that matter. Shadow's eyebrows furrowed, and his heart jumped in his chest. The meat was probably burning. He struggled to move his tong, distracted.
"You got a sharp tongue. Cut meat with that?"
"Get off."
"Or what?"
Shadow rolled his eyes, because he was going crazy. Or what? What was he supposed to say to that? Or what??? This was the kitchen! There was a stove in front of him, and his meat sizzling against the grill! This blue irritance was pressing him near it and getting all up in his space. His skin felt hot.
At some point Shadow realized he'd stayed silent for way too long for Sonic to be taking his reaction as anything "nonchalant". The stupid smirk on Sonic's face only widened, spread across those lips.
"Doesn't seem like you care enough to get me off."
Shadow blinks. The tongs feel forgotten in his sweaty hands.
Sonic looks right into his eyes.
"To get me off... you."
Shadow snaps out of it. He shoves Sonic hard against the stomach, and doesn't care if he hears a wince and a groan. His face burns, and he's aware it isn't because of the grill directly beneath his snout. He can hear Sonic's laughter—satisfied, entertained, enthralled.
"See you next, next week, Shadow." Sonic says, his voice a low rumble.
"Don't come back." Shadow says, without missing a beat this time.
He listens as Sonic's footsteps grow distant, away and out of the kitchen, before the sound of the door hinge creaking followed. Slam.
Shadow's heartbeat wasn't slowing. He takes a deep breath, and then a few more, at irregular intervals. Smoke fills his nose.
The meat's all charred in front of him.
Sonic was gone faster than Shadow could register what was going on. Without even being able to deal with the fluttering feeling in his chest and disgust mixed with attraction, now he had another thing walking in through the door, and it was detestable for other reasons.
Due to warped logic, now there was a robot standing in their kitchen, with a superiority complex. The crazy restaurant owner they see only once in a while had stopped by, bringing this metal chap with him, and declared that since Sonic was their prized head chef that exceeded all expectations, they'd been unable to find a suitable candidate to replace him—and decided to replicate him entirely using a robot.
So now this robot was ripping away at Sonic's notes that Shadow had previously found dumb with those ugly little scribbles. Now he wasn't so sure. Unease settled into the pit of his belly, inching down his spine. He watched Sonic's schedule crushed and thrown into the bin, and the frown he sent in the robot's direction was obviously ignored entirely.
The bot argued with Knuckles and messed up a recipe, and then it'd rearranged Amy and Knuckles' breaks to happen at the same time, leaving a shortage of staff during peak hours. Chaos was slowly settling into the kitchen. Shadow could only meet the worried eyes of that handsome white-quilled customer briefly as he rushed out for a pressed ten minutes break, uneasy about leaving the staff with the robot.
When he got back, what met him was disaster. An angry customer, and this robot looking especially haughty about meat that was cooked on one end, and then raw on the other. Shadow dragged the thing into the kitchen as Amy took it upon herself to clear up the situation. He shoved the robot against the sink and was met with it standing upright to intimidate him with its stature.
"I think we need to have a talk."
Shadow grit out, between clenched teeth.
Shadow's not sure this thing even understands what he's saying. It may look like Sonic, but it's definitely not Sonic. Not in the slightest.
"I hope you're aware that despite replacing Sonic, you're still just a part of the team." Shadow says, curtly. "We've been doing our jobs just fine. You don't need to touch our schedules or do our jobs for us."
He watches its glowing eyes lock onto him.
"What Sonic lacked was doing things outside of his scope."
"No. He has a scope. He's well-rounded." Shadow presses. "He has his part to play in the kitchen, and so do we. You can't just do everything. You're not even doing it correctly, and we're getting in trouble."
"Trouble," the robot utters, "is essential to excellence."
"That's not—no." Shadow shakes his head. His frustration is evident in the empty kitchen, save for him and the Metal Sonic. He can hear himself grit out the words. "That's not how it works."
"You've been brainwashed by Sonic's method." It replies, and Shadow doesn't know if he'll be able to ever make sense to this unfeeling, unthinking being. It was computing a load of nonsense in a code only it could understand. This was a restaurant, not an evil corporation. This was ridiculous. "It is rather strange of you to follow him despite wanting to be better than him."
As he's wrapping his head around that sentence, the robot lifts its hand and touches Shadow lightly, making him flinch. Its touch was cold. He wasn't sure why it was even reaching out.
"Sonic was interested in you." It says, in that voice that echoes lifelessness. It wasn't a living being, but some sort of contraption. Shadow was reminded that there was no other living thing in the kitchen except himself. It had cold, sharp fingers. Shadow steps an inch away. Its pupils fix onto him. "Do you think I'm better than him?"
"Obviously not." Shadow says, without any mince.
The robot tilts its head slightly.
Shadow doesn't know to worry or not if it's been offended. Then again, Shadow's never been the type to bother about whether someone got hurt by his words or not. At least... not usually.
Shadow idly eyes a frying pan near his hand, taking note of its availability as Metal Sonic closes in on him.
"I'm better than him in every way. You—" It pauses. "Shadow the Hedgehog—are essential to my road to perfection."
"I don't care to understand what you mean." Shadow says, and this time he turns away. The robot clasps at his wrist, and drags him back around. Shadow's eyes widen at the force used, his feet sliding across the ground as he's brought back in front of the being.
"Let go!"
"We could be perfect together—Shadow." It whirs, in that robotic voice, and Shadow almost, almost flusters at the thought that this thing, whatever it was, was interested in him because Sonic was—whatever that implied. Except this thing was a separate entity altogether.
"I do not care about your idea of perfection." Shadow responds, almost tearing the hand of the robot off of himself as he bites the words out. Thrown off by the direction that conversation had gone in, he'd almost forgotten why he was talking to this thing in the first place. "Don't touch our schedules. Don't meddle with Sonic's things. Just do what he did, or in your own way. But don't make unnecessary changes."
"He has made a lasting impact on you."
Shadow doesn't continue the conversation. It was tiring trying to communicate. He just wanted to get this talk over with so he could save himself less trouble in the event where he didn't and things went downhill.
When he walks out, Metal Sonic's still standing there, its gaze quietly lingering on its thin, silver fingers. Perhaps still warm from clasping onto Shadow.
As it turns out, robot or not, there was still a limit to how hard everyone could work. After almost going mad during peak hour on a Friday night, Shadow heads back into the kitchen to finish up his cleaning and prepare to leave the restaurant. Metal Sonic is at the counter, talking about something with Amy. Probably discussing customers, or shifts. Shadow blinks.
Well, what to say. This feeling was strange. He's always known Amy was attracted to Sonic. The look she gave him, the way she hugged him. They went way back, and obviously she hadn't been Shadow's top choice for gossiping back when he'd needed to rant to cope with Sonic's arrival. Did this robot... also know that? It probably did. It probably knew Amy liked Sonic. It also could end up proposing the idea of getting together to Amy since Shadow wasn't exactly cooperative.
Except these were too many thoughts for a brooding, closed-off mess like Shadow. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about these things. Sonic was just some dude he'd grown to accept. If Amy got with him, he wouldn't care.
He dusts off his apron and gathers his things in his locker next to Knuckles.
Somewhere between folding his clothes and arranging them to fit the locker's square corner, Shadow finds that he's zoned out and he's alone in the room. He slings his bag over his shoulder and gets out into the pantry. There he finds Metal Sonic, sitting on the floor.
He looks a little pathetic, like that. Shadow awkwardly adjusts his bag, and then tries not to spare the robot two glances. He hadn't realized that being a copy of Sonic, man-made contraption like Metal Sonic didn't have any place to return to at night. Maybe the kitchen staff all had the same assumption, thinking he probably made his way back to the restaurant owner's house after work. After all, he did manufacture him.
The robot tilts its head up to look at Shadow, and Shadow looks back at it, trying not to give away any thoughts. He idly notices the stains on the shiny, blue metal—grease and other stuff, and then he thinks about how Sonic's coming back in two days' time.
"Shadow."
Shadow exhales, slowly, through his nose.
"You're filthy," Shadow says, like that fully explains what he's about to offer. "The customers will be incited to complain."
"No worries." Metal Sonic says, but Shadow doesn't listen. He grabs a bunch of kitchen towels. "I can reach it myself."
Shadow bunches a towel in his hand and scrubs. Oil stains come off, and so do stubborn food splatters. He wipes diligently, positive that if the robot were human, it'd already be complaining that he was rubbing too hard. More focus on getting this piece of scrap metal squeaky clean, and less focus on how it was right in his face and giving him unreadable looks. He finishes up after leaning in to swipe the cloth over the robot's shoulder, and then he pulls back. A metal hand comes up to hold his waist, and he idly smacks it away. Metal Sonic doesn't persist. The obedience has more of an effect on Shadow than it should have.
"Try to keep yourself clean." He utters, trying to sound condescending, and then he heads out the exit of the restaurant.
He tries not to think about how Metal Sonic more than likely finds his little act amusing, to say the least. Nor does he think about how it was rather intimate. A robot's a robot, even if it looks like Sonic.
Sonic's on the noon shift this day. His vacation has finally ended, and the kitchen staff are anticipating his return. Shadow's in the kitchen cutting meat. He's been in his own thoughts since the metal replacement for Sonic left in the morning.
It hadn't been a grand send-off. It wasn't even mildly entertaining. But it was something, maybe something personal. The restaurant owner had come down to fetch the creation away—with a car and everything. It felt silly to be thinking "alas" as the robot got into the car with the window wound down and looked Shadow in the eyes. Not much was exchanged. More or less just that single glance. It wasn't like he'd bonded with the bot.
"It was nice meeting you, Shadow the Hedgehog." It spat out briefly in its toneless voice, and Shadow let out a huff, his arms crossed. He let that go unanswered, up until the engine started. He blinked.
"You weren't too awful towards the end."
As soon as he'd finished his sentence, the car began to move, and Shadow didn't linger by the sidewalk.
Still deep in thought, Shadow jumps when he feels a pair of gloved hands wrap around his waist. He twists his face around, and his wide eyes land on bright blue, and a very unsorry expression.
"Heh. A week without me and you've already forgotten how to cut meat?"
Shadow looks down. His chopper is still in his hand, and the meat only half-cut. He slams the chopper on the board, and Sonic flinches, though the smirk remains.
"No."
"Hehe," Sonic only replies, hands now in the air, talking carefully with a knife in the viscinity. "Just kidding. You looked pretty deep in thought though."
"I was imagining that the meat was you."
"Ouch. And that made you cut me only halfway?" Shadow hates the way he can see Sonic grin without even turning around. "Sounds like you weren't really willing."
At that, Shadow chops the meat in earnest, aggressively. Sonic keeps an inch away for safety.
"Did you miss me?"
"No."
The bustle was returning.
Shadow sighs. The past gives way to the present.
end