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The night was eerily quiet— not the type of silence that made someone want to lean their head out the window and listen to the chatter and babble of nocturnal critters, but rather the type of silence that pressed your thoughts in and in until it felt like your brain might implode.
The more Jimmy stayed awake, the more he began to realize the latter was as unpleasant as he imagined it would be.
He had been awake into the late hours of the night, long after the rest of the ‘Bats had gone to bed, pacing and organizing various reports and supplies, as though busying his hands would busy his mind, too. Ultimately, however, it proved just as useless as he guessed it would be.
He wasn’t even sure what had brought this train of thought on. He had been fine an hour ago, but now he couldn’t stop his train of thought.
If robots could not die, Jimmy thought to himself, could he even be considered alive? Sure, he could be destroyed—blown to smithereens, burnt beyond recognition— but that wasn’t exactly dying.
Besides, he could just be rebuilt. Smarter. Better.
The thought made his metallic hand tighten incrementally on a beaker. He could be replaced.
With all the grace he could muster at the moment, Jimmy placed the beaker into the cabinet which it belonged, the joints in his jaw whirred— a sound he now felt all-too aware of— as he slumped into a sitting position on the countertop.
He shucked off his rash guard, letting it drop to the floor with a dull ‘thud’ as he ran his hands up and down his metal arms. Every joint, every seam, it would have made Jimmy feel sick—if he could feel that way at all. This body… no, not a body, this shell could so easily be replicated, could so easily be destroyed and made new again.
Something in his iron chest twisted at the mere idea of being thrown out and replaced by something (someone?) shiny and new. better than what he could be.
Maybe he wasn’t enough for the ‘Bats. Maybe he was too boring (too robotic, ha) for them. Maybe he was too much of a straight man. Maybe he-…
“This is ridiculous,” Jimmy croaked out before that line of (dare he say unreasonable) thinking, allowing each hand to rest on the opposite shoulder as his frame slumped forward— trying to hide from an audience that wasn’t even there.
So he thought.
As soon as Jimmy shut his eyes as if willing away these godawful thoughts—
“Robot?” It was the Commander.
Jimmy’s head snapped up as soon as he heard the other’s voice. He scrambled for his rash guard so quickly he nearly fell off the counter with a clatter.
No, scratch that, he did practically fall off the counter in his haste.
“Woah, hey, Jimmy—” the Commander stepped forward, brow wrinkling just a little bit as a chuckle that walked the line between amusement and concern punched from his throat. “You okay, homie?” His hands moved out, hovering near Jimmy as the android fumbled to get his rash guard back on.
The mustachioed man tipped his head, and Jimmy— now fully clothed again— didn’t miss the way the corners of the other’s lips momentarily twitched downwards in concern. “You’re not usually, uh… up this late.” The Commander (in all his inability to give up on his friends) slumped into a sitting position beside him. “Nor are you usually that jumpy. Or half naked.”
There was a fleeting moment where Jimmy said nothing, his silvery-blue eyes darting away as if he was embarrassed. As if a hunk of metal could feel such a human thing.
“Hey—” the Commander reached out to cup Jimmy’s face, but he jerked away before he even got close to touching him.
“I’m alright, Commander,” Jimmy answered finally, but his voice came out stiff and almost choked. The narrowing of the other’s eyes was all the indication that he needed to know that the Commander did not buy his bullshit for one second.
“You’re not being honest.” The Commander’s voice grew sharp and nearly— just nearly— accusatory, but he didn’t raise his voice above a murmur. Not yet.
Another beat of silence in which the Commander’s gaze darted across Jimmy’s features, like he hoped that his expression alone would be enough for him to figure out what the heck was going on.
“… what’s wrong, robot?” The Commander leaned in a little closer, causing Jimmy’s shoulders to draw up half an inch.
“I-…” Jimmy choked, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Would you all replace me?” He blurted the words before he could stop them. “If I… If I was broken so badly that I… c-couldn’t be repaired? Or rebuilt as I was?” God, the stutter in his voice made him sound pitiful.
The question made the Commander nearly freeze. Jimmy watched as his expression contorted between confusion, horror, disbelief, and back again before it finally settled on something that stung much, much worse.
Heartbreak.
It rested in the valley between sadness, confusion, and denial. Silently, Jimmy damned himself and his big mouth.
Before he could start spiraling again, though, the Commander shifted so he sat on his knees. His hands darted outwards and cradled Jimmy’s face— the real flesh and blood of the other’s hands a stark warmth against his perpetually cool, synthetic skin.
And instead of yelling, the Commander did something much worse and much, much less expected.
“You really think we would replace you?” The Commander whispered, sounding nearly hurt in the way his voice was a little bit strained.
Jimmy flinched, just a little, but it was enough for the Commander to notice— made evident in the way his expression twisted with even more of that guilt-inducing heartbreak. “Jimmy… even after all this time, you think you’re replaceable?”
“From a logical perspective, Commander,” Jimmy began, reaching up to oh-so gently wrap his own fingers around the Commander’s wrists. “I am.”
Jimmy swallowed hard (he didn’t understand why he had the ability to do that, he technically didn’t need to eat) before speaking again. “I… can be replicated. I can be built again in the event that I am destroyed.”
“I would literally rather kick any replication of you into the atmosphere, robot!” The Commander almost shouted this time and— god— the crack in his tone, the kind that belied the grandeur of his words, nearly made Jimmy break his composure as well. A little sound of what the robot could only guess was devastation or betrayal left the Commander’s throat as his hands moved down to hold Jimmy by his biceps.“I. Don’t. Want. To. Replace. You.” The Commander emphasized every word by shaking Jimmy just a little. “I— why would you even think that?!” He nearly hissed.
“Commander, I’m just saying—” Jimmy tried to begin, but the other nearly yanked him into an embrace. For a moment, Jimmy’s arms hovered uselessly at the Commander’s sides, before he returned the hug— though it was much looser than the other’s grip.
“Don’t even think about that. Ever. You got that, robot?” The Commander choked out, murmuring his words into the junction between Jimmy’s neck and his shoulder. “I would never want to replace you and I doubt any of the other guys would either.”
“Not even if I… the replacement could be built better?” Jimmy breathed out in a tremble.
“I don’t care how much better a shiny new replacement robot could be,” the Commander bit out. “There could be a hundred robots smarter, faster, better than you and I…”
There was a breath of silence in which the Commander pulled away just enough to look JImmy in the eyes. “I would still want you. No matter what, Jimmy.”
That broke him.
Jimmy let his head drop forward against the Commander’s shoulder, an uninhibited sob wrenching from him as he held the other closer. “I promise, Jimmy, you’ll never be replaced. No matter what. Not ever. Not by us.”
After some time, Jimmy’s sobs died down into little sniffles and hiccups.
There, he realized, there was a third type of silence. A silence that wasn’t so quiet— not when he was sitting there, listening to the sounds of the Commander’s breathing and his heartbeat.
And, in his own chest, the soft humming and whirring that proved he was still here.
The soft silence that proved he wasn’t going anywhere.