Y/N’s bond with Bratwurst is woven from equal parts terror and fascination—an uneasy tether forged in the darkest corners of the haunted game world. At first, every glimpse of those midnight-black eyes sends Y/N’s pulse racing, a visceral reminder that they’re prey and plaything all at once. Yet with each forced encounter, something deeper stirs beneath the horror: as Bratwurst circles them with that sickly grin, Y/N can’t help but recognize the loneliness mirrored in his endless craving for souls. In his own twisted way, he seeks a companion in the void.

Despite the danger, Y/N finds themselves collecting small tokens—an abandoned ring, a broken music box mechanism—hoping to humanize the creature who devours innocence. Bratwurst, in turn, sometimes hesitates before striking, pausing as though conflicted by memories of a life that once was Sonic’s. Those flickers of hesitation bind them tighter, sparks of empathy flickering amid the carnage. In those rare suspended moments, Y/N glimpses the wretched vulnerability beneath the mass of tendrils and obsidian flesh, and Bratwurst hears a heartbeat that isn’t the echo of fresh fear.

Their relationship becomes a macabre dance of hunter and muse: Y/N provokes his fury but also tempers his rage, daring him to pause long enough for them both to feel something human. In return, Bratwurst grants Y/N fleeting mercy—a warning growl rather than instant death—or even guides them away from worse horrors lurking beyond his realm. It’s a bond built on blood and broken promises, but in the hellish landscape they traverse together, it is the only tether either of them can trust.