sounds good but i don’t know
> God, way to be melodramatic, 'nads. Lmfao.
Seeing as though these arms were made for moving and they weren’t, Concrete culled most of his operations, save for his wireless communicators: his ears and his comm channel. The heat leaves his body and Concrete can finally think again. At the price of being able to emote and feel like he was actually existing in the real world outside of his hearing, but you know, whatever.
> Still, I'm happy that you gave me a chance.
It feels… odd? To be singled out like that, but still recognized as a piece of a whole. In his many lifetimes, this was maybe the first time this had ever happened – no. This was the second. Maybe even a third? But does the first time ever really count for anything?
> It might be weird for you, knowing that almost every me you’ve ever met has been some completely new fool with old memories, but the feelings we have for you are completely real. I hope you remember that, too, despite this whole idea of “overarching” identities 'n' shit.
The odd, horrendously complicated feeling. Oh! Oh yeah. It was that one feeling when he completed his job in Yosemite. A weird, complex mixture of duty, resignation, affection, longing, some other stuff… what did they call it again?
I think it was saudade?
A ping came from the darkness. Another iteration gave him a promise of retrieval.
> Don't miss me, I'll still be around, ok? I'll be fucking pissed at YOU if you miss me because I'll be right there in front of you the entire time.
“I’ll be melodramatic all I want,” Tornado told him, and doesn’t stop his nose from automatically wrinkling up. “I’m not the one up and getting my legs torn off, what the hell.”
A notable amount of Concrete’s heat signature dropped, abruptly, and he realized that his linemate had to shut down any parts of him that weren’t strictly for communication to keep talking to him. Fuck, that hurts more than it should.
Tornado’s hands combed through his brother’s hair, even though he knew Concrete couldn’t feel it. He's unsure as to why he didn’t want to stop.
“And I’ll miss whoever the hell I want when I want,” he added on, “Because you can’t tell me how to feel, you fucking jerk.”
His fingers grip a little too hard in his brother’s cold, lifeless scalp.
“I’m.” he said, and hesitated a moment, before continuing, “I’m sorry I didn’t work with you properly. I was. ...Stubborn. And if we’re really going to keep this--” and he knew Concrete knew what he means, the this where they were supposed to be keeping the rest of their line from being wiped out completely, “--from happening again, I just.”
He paused a moment because his processors were overclocking on what little power they could to store and back up this information for later analysis. It was, to be honest, stupid and-- fuck he hates this word-- inefficient. He was already low on power, and there was nothing else he could do, here, really-- these were all things that could wait, but.
Tornado didn’t want to leave.
There was something chillingly familiar about this scenario-- about his voice echoing hauntingly in the darkness, swallowed up and spat back out at him by the cold, lifeless metal of the underground.
It wasn’t something he liked.
It wasn’t something he wanted Concrete to be alone with.
“I’m still here,” he reassured the construction bot, when he noticed he was silent for maybe too long. “I’m.” He hesitated-- but only for a moment. “I’m not going to leave you. I can. I can keep talking until you... you know.”