Sonic Fan Book

Gods!AU Origins - Miles Prower - Forging Armor from Chains

TW: Themes of bullying, self-neglect, and suicidal thoughts/urges

Miles had no family. He didn't need any, at least that was what he thought. And he didn't have any friends, either.

He lived alone. He laughed alone. He (mainly) cried alone.

And he thought he would die alone.

Worn sneakers beat the pavement as he tried outrunning the two teens behind him. His mind tried separating thoughts into coherent sentences. Gaia, he could hardly even see from fear. Each time he tried looked back at his tormentors, but their faces seemed to almost be blurred away. He was terrified.

Just when he thought he was alright, he felt someone grabbed one of his tails and pull him back. He screamed slightly, but another hand covered his mouth. He was thrown down as the two teens laughed and taunted his. His ears started ringing and he screamed out, trying to fight his way out of their grasps.

He cried out for the people passing to help him, but most sneered or looked away, pretending they didn't notice.

Hit after hit, and he took it. He felt his head knock back into the ground, scraping against the pavement. Blood ran from his nose. Gnashes and scabs were torn open on his arms and sides. He heard the names they called him still. "Monster," and "freak," and those were the tamer.

He didn't quite know when, but eventually they stopped. They screamed at him to run or they'd continue. He pushed himself off of the ground and staggered to his feet.

He ran.

This was every day to him.

Finally, he got away and ducked into a nearby hubble of a home. His home. Miles ran in and shut the door. For a moment, he was silent, listening for any clue his two tormentors had gotten to his house. His Fox ears pressed against the door, closing his sky blue eyes.

Nothing. Everything was silent now. Finally.

He glared at his extra tail, the reason for the constant torment he faced from everyone in his village. In anger, he grabbed at it, pulling at the golden fur. A spike of pain jolted in his body as he dug his nails into the tails. "I hate you." He whispered, bitter spite in his voice.

He pushed himself off of the door and walked off to the nearby kitchen. The floors and counters were covered in a coat of dust. The house was sagging and gloomy. It was uncared for ever since Miles had been left orphaned. He'd been a couple months from turning three when his father died, and just five when his mother had died as well. Now, he was eight, and had been living all by himself.

With a sigh, Miles clamored onto one of the counters and reached to the cupboard above his head. He swung it open and looked inside. A box of crackers, a tin of mints, and a quarter-full bag of cereal. He sighed again - a habit he developed whenever practically anything happened - and grabbed the bag. Sitting on the counter, he ate the cereal, shoveling it into his mouth until half of what was left was still in the bag.

He didn't even feel full - he never did. He just ate each day enough to stay alive. He wasn't even sure is he wanted to still be alive or dead.

Miles tossed the bag back into the cupboard and shut it. He slid off the counter and walked off to his own room. It seemed unmoved from the day he found his mother unconscious on the floor. He walked to his bed, and though the sun hadn't even set yet, he laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling. When his body was too tired to keep him awake, he fell into the land of dreams.

And dream he did.

~~~

He squinted, staring at the bright gray sky above him as the sound of waters sloshing against rocks rang in his ears. How did he get to a cliff? Wasn't he just in his bedroom? In a landlocked village?