Chapter Text
The Spine was notably the most composed of all of Peter Walter's Steam Man Band. He was quick to learn, and whatever he learned always seemed to stick. This was good: he picked up the nature of human courtesy quickly in his younger days--the days when he had just been powered on and was unused to the world.
However, his siblings weren't like him in this way. They weren't as quick to learn. Not "stupid," just slower to pick up on things. Especially the tidbits and details of respect. Eventually, they got the hang of saying "thank you" and shaking people's hands, but of course, they were naturally less modest than their titanium brother.
It was easy to manage this for a very long time. All Colonel Peter Walter I had to do was tell The Spine to remember his manners, even if his siblings didn't.
And yet, you always became what you surrounded yourself with.
It wasn't sudden, it took place over the course of several decades; The Spine's programming was stubborn to remain the perfectly polite bot Peter raised him to be. But it soon got to him. He started to lose this politeness--not to something vile--to childishness.
He played and ran and laughed and shrieked more. Some would've viewed it as regression, but to his siblings, it was growth. The Spine was embracing himself. Through the joy of playing.
Peter Walter I, unfortunately, did not tolerate this "growth." He had enough to deal with already, between Rabbit's seemingly constant malfunctions and The Jon's blatant naivety. The Spine's cool-headed demeanor was always refreshing to the man. The silver boy was an ear that would listen and retain, not ignore and disobey. The loss of this valuable personality only angered Peter, further more from his usual snappiness.
-----
It was sunny today. The kind of weather that always kept you warm enough to be content, but never too hot, with the sun always perfectly bright.
The grass scratched at their legs as they ran through it. Sometimes Rabbit chased her siblings down the slope of the backyard. Sometimes The Jon hid in the tallest of the grass and jumped out to scare his siblings. Sometimes they all sat together by the duck pond and threw scraps they had grabbed from the kitchen to the birds. Laughter was almost always in the air, it seemed. If not, the siblings sung together; children's songs they couldn't recall memorizing or songs from the old records their father kept.
The Spine was happier today than he'd been all month. Even the way the sun gleamed off of his metal plating made him seem brighter. There was a light note to his boyish laughter that hadn't been there before.
Rabbit had just caught up to him from another round of chasing him down the hill. She had him pinned to the ground with her hands, laughing and declaring her victory. Spine writhed under her, trying to free himself, while The Jon shoved at his older sister's side in attempt to rescue his brother. His actions proved futile: Rabbit was bigger and stronger than he was.
"Get off of him!" The Jon squealed.
Rabbit shook her head and only leaned more force into her hands. "I've caught him rightfully! I win!"
"I'll save you, Spine!" Jon exclaimed as he threw himself at Rabbit again. It did little to help.
The Spine's head fell back dramatically into the ground. He closed his eyes and let himself go limp. "She's won, Jon," he mumbled, mimicking the rasp of a wounded man's voice, "I give up."
The Jon squealed again about taking vengeance. When Rabbit finally lifted her hands off of her defeated brother, Jon immediately began to wrestle with her. She laughed and let him make progress, but never enough to win. Laughter filled the air again, both from the tumbling pair and from The Spine, who had lifted his head to watch them.
That was, until Peter Walter appeared out from the back door of the manor. His presence dampened the mood, like a dark cloud covering the sun. He glared across the yard at the metal children who kept playing with each other like dogs. None of them noticed until his voice rang out, sharp and clear:
"Spine. Come here, please."
The Spine froze. He was followed by Rabbit and The Jon, who stopped fighting and slowly untangled themselves from each other.
"Coming, Pappy," Spine responded, not ignoring the firmness in his father's voice. He reluctantly stood up, dusted the grass stains off of his clothes as well as he could, and strode back across the yard towards his father. His hands found themselves clasped politely in front of him.
Rabbit and Jon watched him leave. They didn't seem intent on wrestling anymore.
-----
It was cool inside the manor. Not enough to be cold, but enough for The Spine's systems to shudder as they adapted to the sudden change. It was darker in here, too. The windows let light in, but the dark walls and floors ate it up.
"Is something wrong?" The Spine asked as he followed his father down the hallways. Something was terribly wrong. If it was only a misdoing, Peter wouldn't lead him down the labyrinthine corridors. Not for a mild scolding.
"Yes," Peter replied sharply. His own hands were clasped tightly together, behind his back. It was alike the posture of an educated man, if not for the rigidness of his back. "You've grown foolish, Spine." He let the message sink in.
"I have?" the bot asked as his voice suddenly grew shaky. It was unheard of. The Spine was never foolish. He was mature and composed and very dignified. Wasn't he?
"You have. I'm certain it's because of Rabbit and The Jon. They're not half as well-mannered as you, you know."
"I know...but they're my siblings, Pappy. I can't just ignore them," Spine argued, hoping with all of his mechanized heart that he wasn't thinking what Peter seemed to be.
"Perhaps not. They won't ever leave you alone, not really," Peter remarked coldly. His face hardened: his brow furrowing and his lips shifting to a frown. "But you should avoid them as much as you can."
Spine's eyes widened. The sentence was alien to him. The thought of abandoning his brother and sister--the warmth of their laughter when they played and their voices when they sung in harmony--was depressing.
"Why?"
"They're a bad influence. You haven't noticed, Spine, but they're making you disobedient and impolite."
The bot went silent. Maybe his father was right. He wasn't even sure what being impolite truly meant--what it looked like and what it meant to be impolite--but surely Peter had to be right. The man was too smart to be wrong. Surely.
"Come with me, boy," Peter said, cutting through The Spine's thoughts. He opened the door to his laboratory and beckoned the robot in behind him.
It was even colder in here than in the hallway.