Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Perfect, you’re here!” Brainstorm ushers Rewind inside his room. “You made sure Chromedome doesn’t know about this, right?”

“Yes,” Rewind says, for the umpteenth time, as he looks around the room. He can barely see anything. All the lights are off, and the door is closed. He turns his camera on anyway. “But I really don’t appreciate being asked to keep secrets from him, you know. Why did you even call me here?”

“It’s a surprise,” Brainstorm says. “You’re going to love it, I promise. At least, I’m pretty sure you are. Like, seventy percent certain, you’re probably definitely going to love it.”

“See, you’re saying that to be reassuring, but it’s not working. I’m just more nervous,” Rewind says. “Nothing’s going to blow up, is it?”

“Swear on my spark, absolutely no explosions.”

“Mmhmm.” Rewind sighs. He likes Brainstorm, he does, but he’s never met anyone who’s quite so good at inviting disaster. “Well, let’s see it, then. What’s your big surprise?”

“Tadah!” Brainstorm turns on all the lights with a flourish. 

Rewind squints against the sudden glare of the lights. He’s never actually been in Brainstorm’s room before, though in his defense, Brainstorm’s rarely in it either. He’s usually in the lab. There’s been stricter rules set in place after the whole time travel ordeal, but Rewind heavily doubts Brainstorm actually follows any of them. 

Considering one of the rules is “no inventing outside the lab”, and Rewind is currently looking at an invention very much outside the lab, he thinks it’s a safe assumption to make.

“It’s...impressive looking,” Rewind says, but it’s a lie. It’s just a giant screen, with a control panel at the side. Still, looks can be deceiving, especially with Brainstorm. The briefcase was more than proof enough of that.

“Oh, ho ho, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Brainstorm says. He walks over to the control panel and bends down, pulling out a thick cable from the base. 

“What’s it do?” It’s not that he doesn’t trust Brainstorm, of course, he just...doesn’t always trust his judgement. The cable has pointy bits at the end.

“I’m glad you asked,” Brainstorm says, and plugs it into the back of his head.

Rewind jumps. “Brainstorm! Is that safe?”

“Don’t worry, I did extensive testing before I called you here, and so far I haven’t died!”

“You have no idea how little that fills me with confidence,” Rewind says faintly.

“Relax, it’s almost definitely perfectly harmless,” Brainstorm says. “Probably. Now let’s get this show on the road!”

He takes a remote out of his subspace, lifts it over his head dramatically, and presses a button. The lights dim, and the screen turns on with a flash of static. A video starts playing—it’s Brainstorm and Rewind, in a hallway outside a room.

“Perfect, you’re here!” The Brainstorm in the video says. He gestures for the Rewind to enter. “You made sure Chromedome doesn’t know about this, right?”

“Wait, but that just happened,” Rewind says.

“It most certainly did,” Brainstorm says, beaming.

“You weren’t recording it, were you?”

“Nope! Just in here,” Brainstorm says, and taps his head.

Onscreen, Brainstorm turns on the lights.

“This...this is a memory,” Rewind says.

“Got it in one,” Brainstorm says.

“How is that possible? It’s not even from your point of view,” Rewind says.

It isn’t; both he and Rewind are shown in profile, as if they were being filmed from the doorway. It’s weird to see himself like that. He’s used to being the one filming.

“Oh, that’s just the work of a little cleverly applied genius,” Brainstorm says, ever the picture of modesty. “It takes my mental image of the setting, and of myself, and recreates the memory with them in a third person view. It shouldn’t affect the accuracy, since it’s still drawing from what you remember.”

“You have no idea how little that fills me with confidence,” Rewind says in the video.

“Brainstorm, this is incredible,” Rewind says.

Brainstorm preens. “Why, thank you,” he says, and presses a button. 

The scene fades out. Faint figures start drifting across the screen, never staying longer than a few moments. Rewind thinks he can make out a familiar face here and there, but it feels rude to look at it for too long. Even his nosiness has limits. He turns to Brainstorm.

“Can you watch any memory with this?”

“Well, hypothetically, but you know what I always say about hypotheticals.”

“I...don’t know, actually,” Rewind says. “Do you really have a saying for them?”

“If you keep your hypothesis hypothetical you’re a loser,” Brainstorm says. “Theories are meant to be tested!”

Rewind has a theory that sayings like that are why Brainstorm gets himself blown up so often.

“How long have you been working on this?” Rewind asks.

Chromedome had mentioned Brainstorm’s been a bit reclusive lately, but Rewind hadn’t thought anything of it. Brainstorm’s mellower now than he was before the time travel incident, so Rewind had just assumed he was more of an introvert than he had let on.

“I’ve been tossing the idea around for a while, but I never had the time to do anything with it until now.”

“Well, I’m glad you got around to it!” Rewind is so excited about this. Just imagining all that could be learned with this sort of technology makes him want to sing. But he does have to wonder— “Why keep this from Chromedome, though?”

“Ah. I’m glad you asked that, too.” Brainstorm takes a deep breath. He shifts from relaxed to serious so fast it almost gives Rewind whiplash. “So. Chromedome’s going to inject again.”

“What—no, he isn’t!” Rewind stares at Brainstorm in shock. “He promised he’d stop, and he has. He doesn’t even have the needles anymore!”

“I know,” Brainstorm says. “And I believe he meant it, I really do. But we both know that addictions can’t be promised away.”

“So, what, “Rewind says. “You’re just going to write him off as a—a lost cause?” Rewind can’t believe him. Brainstorm has the audacity to call himself Chromedome’s best friend, and then turn around and say things like this?

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Brainstorm says. “I absolutely believe he could really beat it this time, but—look. How many times have we needed mnemosurgery?”

Rewind pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I hate seeing him inject just as much as you do, but sometimes—sometimes we need his abilities, and you know he can’t resist if there’s enough pressure on him to do it. I hope to Primus we won’t ever need it again, but—I don’t want to take that chance.”

Rewind gestures at the screen. “So this…”

Brainstorm nods. “This is an alternative. No risk to the mnemosurgeon if there’s no mnemosurgeon at all, right? It completely takes him out of the equation. This is still just a prototype, but I wanted to get your...blessing, I suppose, before I told Chromedome.” He looks almost shy. “What do you think, is it—good?”

“Good? Brainstorm,” Rewind says, with an incredulous laugh, “I could kiss you!”

But Brainstorm isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at Chromedome, who’s standing in the doorway. 

“Uh, hi,” he says, and looks between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Um,” Brainstorm replies.

The screen lights up.

They all turn to look at it. It’s a memory of Chromedome, this time. Brainstorm’s watching from the doorway as Chromedome puts things in boxes. He only has one arm. Rewind doesn’t remember Chromedome ever losing—

“Oh,” says Chromedome.

Brainstorm fumbles with the remote. It takes him a few tries to get it right way up, but just as the memory-Brainstorm starts to speak he presses a button and the memory changes.

It’s Chromedome again. This time he’s walking down an unfamiliar hall. There’s a certain determination in his stride, but he looks hollow, like that determination is the only thing keeping his frame from collapsing in on itself.

“Chromedome, please, don’t do this,” Brainstorm says from behind him. “I know—“

Brainstorm pushes the button again.

Chromedome’s sitting at a desk, staring at his hands. Brainstorm paces behind him. 

“I’m really worried about you,” Brainstorm says. “You haven’t left the room in—“

Brainstorm starts mashing at the button frantically. 

“—with my own gun! Really, Chromedome? That’s—that’s just cruel. You’d make me have to live with that?”

“—hey, do you know where I put my...Chromedome? Oh, no, no, not again, Chromedome—“

“—fine, Brainstorm, you don’t need to keep hovering. I’m not going to do anything—“

“—again? Chromedome, how could you—“

“—I swear you’ll feel better if you just—“

“—and sometimes I wonder if there’s even any—“

“—no, no, no, no, please don’t—“

Crack. The remote starts smoking slightly. Brainstorm tosses it aside and runs to the control panel by the screen. He starts pounding at the buttons, no rhyme or reason to it. The memories go by faster, now, just quick flashes, barely there before they’re gone.

There’s Chromedome curled up on a recharge slab—

Chromedome clutching at Brainstorm and trembling—

Chromedome knocking Brainstorm’s hand away—

Chromedome slumped against a wall with his needles in his optics—

Brainstorm pulls a gun out of his subspace and shoots the screen.

That gets the memories to stop. The screen goes dark in a hail of shattered glass. Brainstorm slowly lowers the gun. He’s breathing heavily, like he just came off a battlefield.

For a long second, no one moves.

Then Brainstorm drops the gun and claps his hands together. It’s deafening in the silence. “Note to self,” he says, casually, “It needs a little finetuning.”

“Brainstorm,” Chromedome says. “What was that?“

The screen crackles feebly to life, and Rewind can just make out Chromedome huddled on the floor and Brainstorm kneeling at his side through the cracks and the static before Brainstorm takes the cable and yanks it out of his head.

“Brainstorm!” Rewind gasps.

Brainstorm nearly keels over, but he catches his balance before Rewind or Chromedome can steady him. He straightens up sharply. His eyes are sparking.

“Well, I should be going now,” Brainstorm says. “Lots to do, and all that. See you later, or maybe not, you know how it is, I’m a busy guy. Bye!”

He turns on his heel just a bit too fast and starts marching out of the room.

“Wait!” Chromedome catches him by the arm.

Brainstorm shudders, like the touch physically hurts him. He turns around with all the weight of someone seeing their executioner. But his expression is what really gets Rewind. He doesn’t look guilty, or embarrassed. He doesn’t even look overwhelmed. He just looks...sad.

“What, Domey,” Brainstorm says.

“I—what just happened? What did we just see? The first part, I know what that was, but I don’t remember any of the rest of it. Some of it looked like the New Institute, but I don’t—you said—I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I remember it?”

Brainstorm sighs. He sounds tired. “Why do you think, Chromedome?” He lifts his hand and waggles his fingers, then winces. “Sorry, that was—out of line. It was at the New Institute, yeah, most of it. Hey, remember when we roomed together? Drove everyone else nuts.”

Chromedome shakes his head helplessly. “How could I forget that much? Why would I—why would I do that?”

“Domey,” Rewind says softly.

Brainstorm snorts. “I don’t know, because you were miserable? Because it felt better in the short term? Because you didn’t want to remember all those times I got in the way of you offing yourself?” He throws his hands in the air. “Who knows!”

Chromedome flinches like he’s been hit. “Stormy, I—”

“Pick a reason, any reason!” Brainstorm’s voice rises unsteadily. “Why’s Chromedome forgotten something this time? It’s a mystery for the ages!”

“Brainstorm,” Chromedome says. “Brainstorm, I’m so sorry.”

Brainstorm drops his hands and rubs at his optics. “No, no, I shouldn’t be yelling. It’s...listen, it might not even have all been you. You know what Trepan was like, I wouldn’t put it past him, to take stuff in the name of, I don’t know, increasing efficiency, or whatever.”

“What?” Chromedome shakes his head. “Trepan wouldn’t have—he didn’t do that sort of thing to us.”

“You don’t remember?” Brainstorm laughs. It’s an odd, hollow sound. “No, of course you wouldn’t. I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Brainstorm,” Rewind says. “I…”

Brainstorm turns to him, but Rewind just stares at him. He can’t think of anything else to say. 

“It’s fine,” Brainstorm says, after a moment. “Really. I should...I should go.”

This time, neither of them stop him.

Chapter Text

As soon as Brainstorm leaves, Chromedome collapses, burying his face in his hands. Rewind rushes over and cradles him in his arms.

“It’s alright, Domey, it’s alright,” Rewind says.

“I never even thought about it,” Chromedome whispers. “Brainstorm told me about my—about my other conjunxes, but I didn’t even consider that I might have forgotten anything else.”

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay,” Rewind says. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? We always do.”

Chromedome takes Rewind’s hand and clutches it tightly. “Right,” he says. “Right.”

Rewind kisses Chromedome’s forehead. Chromedome lets go of Rewind’s hand, but only so he can wrap his arms around Rewind’s middle and squeeze.

Despite himself, despite the circumstances, Rewind laughs a little. “Careful, Domey, you’re going to crush me.”

Chromedome just pushes his head against Rewind’s chest wordlessly, and Rewind is hit once again by just how in love he is with this beautiful, wonderful, mess of a mech. Rewind wishes he could do more to help him, more than just holding him while he breaks apart. He wonders how many times Brainstorm’s felt like this.

They sit there, curled around each other, in the dim light of Brainstorm’s room. The floor is littered with shattered glass, and the now-broken screen gives off sparks every few seconds. The room has a slightly eerie quality to it with Brainstorm gone. It’s emptier than Rewind would’ve expected; besides Brainstorm’s invention, there’s not much there. An empty briefcase is hanging on the wall, and there’s a desk with a few photos on it. 

One of them has Rewind in it, actually. It’s a picture of Chromedome, Brainstorm, and Rewind, all of them covered in confetti and glitter. Chromedome has his arm around Brainstorm, and Rewind is sitting on his shoulder. He remembers when that was taken; Swerve had been in a picture-taking mood that week, and they were visiting a planet that rained glitter. The confetti was all Whirl—Rewind still isn’t sure where he got it.

“I should go find him,” Chromedome says after a few minutes. He sounds terrible. Rewind’s spark aches at the strain in his voice.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Domey,” Rewind says.

“He shouldn’t have to be alone,” Chromedome says, lifting his head to look at Rewind. 

“I know,” Rewind says. “But I don’t think you should go. You two need to talk about this, but not right now. Not when it’s still fresh for both of you.”

“But it’s not fresh for him,” Chromedome says. “He’s been dealing with this by himself for so long. We never really talked about it, you know. I should’ve talked to him, I know I should’ve, but I just—I didn’t want to think about it.” He laughs bitterly. “Guess I’m good at that.”

“Listen, Domey,” Rewind says. “I’m not going to lie, you messed up there. But you’re in no state to fix it right now. Brainstorm’s not the only one this affected. It’s okay to need more time.”

“It’s just—” Chromedome draws in a shuddering breath. “Sometimes it feels like all I do is hurt people,” he says, like he’s confessing his sins.

“No, no, Domey, please don’t think of yourself like that,” Rewind begs. “My life is so much better for having you in it, okay? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“But Brainstorm—”

“Brainstorm’s chosen to keep being your friend all this time. I think he knows what you’re like by now, bad decisions and all.”

Chromedome snorts. “Really? I erased my own memories, Rewind. I think that’s more than a bad decision.”

“You’re being pedantic, my love,” Rewind says gently, taking Chromedome’s head in his hands. “Please just let me comfort you.”

“...Right. No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Chromedome turns his head to kiss Rewind’s palm. His tone turns sly. “You were saying about me being the light of your life? Keeper of your very spark? The reason you get up in the morning?”

“Oh, stop it,” Rewind says, pushing Chromedome away playfully. “Now you’re being insufferable.”

“I love you,” Chromedome says. “I just—I know you already know that, but I wanted to say it again.”

“I love you too, Domey,” Rewind says. He bumps a kiss against Chromedome’s helm. “Will you be okay if I leave you alone?”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, if that’s what you’re asking,” Chromedome says. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?” Rewind asks. “I can stay a little longer. I’m not comfortable leaving you alone with your thoughts. I know how easily you spiral.”

“No, you should go find Brainstorm,” Chromedome says. He sighs. “I’ll ask someone to come sit with me for a while. I don’t exactly feel like going to Swerve’s right now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Rewind says. “Who will you ask?”

“I don’t know,” Chromedome says. “Honestly, usually I’d call Brainstorm for this type of thing, but, well.”

“Not really an option, this time,” Rewind says wryly. “Oh, what about Cyclonus? He’s not the sort to pry.”

“Cyclonus?” Chromedome tilts his head. “Yeah, why not? He’s a good mech to sit in silence with. Do you mind messaging him, though? I don’t feel up to explaining.”

“Of course, Domey,” Rewind says. “Should I tell him to come here, or do you want to move to our habsuite?”

“Better make it ours,” Chromedome says. “Tell him I’ll meet him there. I want to clean up this glass first.”

“Here, I’ll help,” Rewind says. He fires off a quick message to Cyclonus—and, now that he’s thinking about it, he messages Nautica as well, to keep an eye out for Brainstorm. He really should have done that sooner.

“Do you know where he might’ve gone?” Rewind asks, as they pick up the broken shards of glass littered about the floor.

“Well, with Brainstorm the first place to check is always the lab,” Chromedome says. “But my guess is he’ll be somewhere out of the way. He’s good at pretending nothing’s wrong when he’s unhappy, but if he’s really upset then he’ll up and vanish. It might be easier to use the security cameras than to search for him on foot.”

“Do you know who’s on security duty tonight?”

“No, sorry,” Chromedome says.

“Damn, I don’t either. I suppose it’ll be faster just to go check the cameras myself, then.” 

Rewind disposes of the last of the glass—that he could find, at least. Admittedly, he was rushing a bit, but Brainstorm’s been left alone and unaccounted for for too long already. He brushes his hands to shake off any clinging glass shards, gives Chromedome one last kiss, and heads off to security. 

He walks down the hallways as quickly as he can while still technically walking and not running. Finding Brainstorm is the easy part. Pop in to security, check the cameras, pop back out. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to spot him, just barely in view of a camera. Just like Chromedome predicted, he’s hidden himself away in a remote corner of the ship, and Rewind has to check his copy of the ship’s blueprint just to figure out where it is, much less how to get there—apparently, it used to be a backup oil reservoir. Rewind didn’t even know they had a backup oil reservoir.

Rewind makes his way down to the abandoned backup reservoir, and then he’s left staring at the entrance to it, trying to fight back the nerves. What should he say when he gets there? What should he do? Rewind considers Brainstorm one of his closest friends now, but he doesn’t know if Brainstorm feels the same way. Brainstorm’s always been more Chromedome’s friend than Rewind’s. If they’re close, they’re close by association. They didn’t even like each other until the time travel incident, for god’s sake.

It doesn’t matter, though. Brainstorm needs someone, and Rewind’s going to be that someone.

He steps inside. Brainstorm is sitting on the edge of the empty reservoir, with his back to the doorway. Rewind feels like he should be quiet, but it’s probably not a good idea to surprise Brainstorm. He makes his footsteps heavy enough to be audible without being actively loud, but Brainstorm doesn’t look up, doesn’t even twitch. Rewind sits down beside him. That gets a reaction; he hadn’t noticed before, but Brainstorm’s taken his faceplate off, and now he fumbles to put it back on.

“You don’t have to do that,” Rewind says. “Just because I don’t have a face doesn’t mean you have to hide yours.” He’s honestly never gotten why some people have guilt complexes over having mouths. Rewind certainly doesn’t care.

Brainstorm clicks it back into place anyway. “I prefer having it on. I’m more comfortable that way. Still not quite used to having a face, I guess.”

“Oh,” Rewind says. “I didn’t realize it was a mod.”

“I’ve had it for a long time now,” Brainstorm says. “Longer than I've known you, actually. To be honest, I’ve always regretted getting it a little. It feels so exposed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Huh.”

They sit in silence for a little while. It’s…uncomfortable. But Rewind doesn’t want to push, so he lets the silence linger.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Brainstorm says, finally. “At the New Institute. Some of my best memories are from there.”

“Oh,” Rewind says. “That’s…good.”

Brainstorm snorts. “Wow, you really weren’t expecting that. What, did you think it was just non-stop misery the whole time?”

“Well. I mean. Yeah?” Rewind shifts so he’s angled more towards Brainstorm. “It was the New Institute.”  

“It wasn’t all shadowplay and secrets and death, you know. There were normal parts, too. Even Chromedome was happy for a lot of it.” Brainstorm looks down into the empty reservoir. “Well. For some of it. Not many good days towards the end.”

Rewind knows about the end. Not much, but he knows what it was like. He knows what it did to Chromedome.

“...Tell me about them,” Rewind says. “Tell me about the good days.”

Now it’s Brainstorm’s turn to be surprised. “Really? Uh, sure, I guess, if you really want me to. Just—give me a moment to think. Chromedome was usually happiest when he was in love, and you, ah, probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“No, I mean tell me about your good days,” Rewind says.

“Me? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You’re my friend, of course I want to know this sort of stuff.”

Brainstorm stares at him for a moment. “Oh,” he says. “Right. Right, we’re friends now. I forgot you don’t hate me anymore.”

“I never hated you,” Rewind says, awkwardly, because he kind of did. In hindsight it was stupid, but he’d always felt threatened by Brainstorm, and bitterly jealous of how close he was to Chromedome.

“You totally hated me, don’t lie. It’s fine, though, I thought it was funny. Besides, most people hate me.”

“Oh, Brainstorm, that’s not true,” Rewind says. “No one on the Lost Light hates you, do they?”

“The Lost Light is a very small sample pool to pull from, but just off the top of my head I can think of at least five—no, six, I’m pretty sure Nickel would set me on fire if she thought she could get away with it.” He shrugs. “Seriously, though, I don’t care. I was blessed with unfathomable intellect, not social skills, and I accepted that ages before I ever met you. It’s not like I was crying myself to sleep over it.”

“You’re not unlikable,” Rewind says fiercely. “And if I hear you call yourself that again I’ll make you regret it. What about Chromedome, hm? What about Nautica? She liked you enough to sparkbond.”

“Ha, I guess you’ve got me there,” Brainstorm says. He grins dopily and shakes his head. “An amica. I have an amica. I never thought I’d ever—well, that’s not entirely true. But I did think I’d missed my chance at ever having something like this long ago.” 

Rewind puts his hand on his arm.

Brainstorm glances sidelong at Rewind. “So, was this all a sneaky way of getting my life story on tape?”

“What?” Oh, his camera was recording, wasn’t it. “No, sorry, I can turn it off—“ 

“Nah, keep it on,” Brainstorm says. “I don’t...you know our conversation when I was in the brig? That was the first time I’d ever talked about any of that, and it was…nice. I’d made my peace with erasing myself from existence, but I still—I just hate the idea of my memories dying with me. And it’s not the same, not nearly the same, but...well. I couldn’t save Quark, but at least there’s a record of how important he was.”

“Oh,” Rewind says. “That’s…I’m glad it helped.”

“Yeah.” Brainstorm tilts his head. “You ready to do your little cameraman thing, then?”

Rewind feels distinctly like Brainstorm is humoring him—or, more accurately, he feels like Brainstorm wants him to feel like he’s being humored. It’s something Brainstorm does a lot, and Rewind can’t stand it. It’s so transparently obvious that he’s just trying to feel superior, or push people away by annoying them, and the worst thing is it’s very effective. Rewind’s first instinct is to be snide back, but he restrains himself. Brainstorm’s feeling fragile, and that’s fine, that’s understandable. Rewind knows he’s uncomfortable with vulnerability. That’s fine. Rewind won’t push him. 

“What, you want me to start fussing with the lighting or something? I didn’t realize I was filming a documentary.”

“Little Victories 2: All About Brainstorm,” Brainstorm says, and it’s clearly supposed to be a reference Rewind gets.

“I don’t think I’ve watched Little Victories 1,” he says. “Is it a human film?”

“What? No, it’s—oh. Right. Wrong Rewind.” Brainstorm coughs. “Never mind.”

Oh.

“Anyway,” Rewind says, desperately scrambling for a subject change, “The lighting in here is terrible, there’d only be so much I could do. Good acoustics, though.”

Brainstorm stares at him for a moment. “Well thank Primus for that,” he says, dryly.

“Good days! We were talking about good days. Your good days. Tell me about your good days, Brainstorm.”

Brainstorm exhales heavily. “Right. Good days, good days…well, any time I had an invention pass the Ethics Committee’s approval was a good day. Institute employees got one free repaint every year, that was great—the first time I got repainted was like nothing I’d ever felt before, Rewind, you have no idea. Oh, oh, and there was that one time when Chromedome had a ‘guy on the outside’ smuggle in three boxes full of these little fancy bismuth-flaked cakes, and we ate them all in Chromdome’s off-shift, right before he had a major operation. We legitimately thought we were going to die, we ate so many, but it was absolutely worth it.”

“Ha! Domey told me about that, actually,” Rewind says. “He said he hasn’t been able to touch one since.”

Brainstorm snickers. “Yeah, it took him a week to recover fully. I was fine, naturally. Mixed up a special little formula I’m legally not allowed to discuss anymore, and I was right as rain the next day. As in the earth saying, I mean. I wasn’t acidic.”

“You know, I think you might be the only person I’ve ever met who would need to clarify that,” Rewind says dryly.

“I still love those cakes, too,” Brainstorm says.

“And you never got in trouble?”

“Well, I was almost arrested for the formula, but other than that? Nope. They let the mnemosurgeons get away with pretty much anything as long as they kept doing their jobs, and smuggling desserts was nothing compared to what Sunder pulled on a daily basis. The scientists didn’t have as much free reign, but Trepan liked my work. And later I was pretty much the only one keeping Chromedome functional, which helped.”

“Oh, Stormy,” Rewind says. “You really were, weren’t you? If it hadn’t been for you I never would have met him.”

“I mean, yeah,” Brainstorm says. “But, like, it’s not a big deal. It wasn’t always fun, but hey, I’m his friend, it’s my job. Besides, no one else was going to put up with me, so I had to make sure he stuck around, you know?”

“I’m so sorry I always treated you so horribly. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’m pretty sure I deserved some of it,” Brainstorm says. He shifts uncomfortably. “Look, can we not talk about this? I came down here so I wouldn’t have to have a feelings talk. I don’t like feelings talks.”

“…Alright,” Rewind says, even though he very much does not want to talk about something else. He wants to say I saw what you had to deal with, Brainstorm. Who was there for you during all of that? Who was keeping you functional?

But he doesn’t. He wants to so badly, but he decided to come down here for Brainstorm, and if Brainstorm doesn’t want to have a “feelings talk” then they won’t have one.

“Al—alright? Seriously? You’re just—moving on? Just like that?” 

“Yes, seriously,” Rewind says, a bit more curtly than he means to. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it right now, so we won’t.”

“I—wow. Huh. I really thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“Believe it or not, I am capable of basic tact, you know,” Rewind snaps. “Just because you don’t have any doesn’t mean—no, I’m sorry, that’s uncalled for.”

“Ha, are you kidding? That was barely even an insult. Besides, it’s been the most predictable thing you’ve said in this conversation,” Brainstorm says easily.

He really was terrible at this. “I’m so sorry, Stormy, I’m not doing this well at all.”

“I don’t know, I’m definitely in a better mood now,” Brainstorm says. ““And—listen. I know I should talk about…stuff. More than I do. I bet Chromedome’s beating himself up over this, right? I should’ve talked to him about it before but I didn’t want to think about it, I’m so selfish, or something. And don’t get me wrong, he is terrible about avoiding things, but…I’m not much better, I know. My solutions to problems just tend to be a bit more productive than his.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to, but maybe I want to, okay? Maybe I do want a feelings talk, because I haven’t ever talked about any of this. Not with Chromedome, not even with Nautica, and I’ve told her things I’ve never told anyone. I just—there were good days, there were, but the New Institute was—it was evil, Rewind, it really was, it killed anyone who stayed there too long. And Chromedome and I…we stayed there for a long time. It wasn’t the worst part of my life, but it was—bad. It was really bad. And sometimes I look at Chromedome and all I can think is how empty I was back then, every day, and sometimes I think that emptiness has never gone away and never will. I think it might just be a part of me, like the fear and the grief and the hiding.”

“You’re not hiding now, Stormy,” Rewind says. “And I don’t know all the things you’re afraid of, or all the things you’re grieving, but I spent so long terrified and mourning too, and that hasn’t gone away for me either—I don’t know that it’ll ever be completely gone. But I do know that it’s changed. It’s better. I owe part of that to you, Stormy. And not just for taking care of Chromedome. I’m so grateful to be your friend. I don’t—I don’t know what the right thing to say here is. I don’t think I’m very good at this. But I want to try anyway, if you want me to. I hope you know that.”

“Geez, Rewind, you’re going to make me cry,” Brainstorm says. “You can’t just say things like that. Don’t you know that I’m allergic to genuine emotional honesty?”

“Was that too much? I’m sorry, Stormy, I—”

“No, no, you’re fine. That was…that was really nice. Thank you.”

“I meant it,” Rewind says. “Every word. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?”

“Okay,” Brainstorm says. 

He bumps Rewind’s shoulder with his elbow companionably, and Rewind leans into his side.

“Okay,” Rewind repeats.

They’re both quiet for a while. It’s not as uncomfortable as it was before.

“Could you message Chromedome?” Brainstorm asks after a bit. “He’s probably freaking out right now. Tell him that I’m fine, and that we talked. Oh, and tell him I’m not mad at him, too.”

“Sure,” Rewind says.

“Thanks,” Brainstorm says. “Was he alright when you left? You didn’t leave him in the middle of a breakdown, right?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Rewind says. “I wouldn’t do that. We asked Cyclonus to sit with him while I looked for you.”

“Oh, that was smart of you,” Brainstorm says. “Cyclonus is a great guy to sit with in silence.”

Rewind laughs. “That’s exactly what Chromedome said!”

“And we’re both right,” Brainstorm says. “Hey, you know you can go if you want, yeah? You don’t have to stay here with me. I’m fine now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Rewind says. “I’m staying here as long as you need me.”

“Okay,” Brainstorm says. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Rewind says.

He rests his head against Brainstorm’s arm, and they sit there, together in the dark.

It’s nice.