He does not understand this level of affection, of care. It is alien to
him. He knows a brothers love, a friends love, a companion and compatriot,
but this... This makes him small in a good way. A healing way.
And the little soldier wails as he clings to Rung.
He leans into the larger mech, curling himself into him and grabbing at his
shoulders. Not unlike Arm had done when MG had first stepped out of the
shadows that day. Clinging, desperate for something to hold onto so he
doesn't float away.
He knows, distantly, that he has to make things better. And he is scared.
He is so, so scared. Of trying. Of failing. Of disappearing even if someone
will remember him. He's afraid of the static in his mind where memory files
used to be. He's afraid of the coding that runs rampant through his system
that turns him feral and violent at the flick of a switch.
But those things are distant now. Worries for another time. Because the
Spark song that he cannot match but can hear is soothing. It lulls him. The
sobs turn to shuddering hiccups, and then quiet, hitched vents. His hold
doesn't loosen, even as the rest of the little soldier starts to relax.
And then, almost peacefully, he slides into a recharge. Soothed by the song
of a forgotten god.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
momijizukamori
no subject
Date: 2023-12-07 05:21 am (UTC)He does not understand this level of affection, of care. It is alien to him. He knows a brothers love, a friends love, a companion and compatriot, but this... This makes him small in a good way. A healing way.
And the little soldier wails as he clings to Rung.
He leans into the larger mech, curling himself into him and grabbing at his shoulders. Not unlike Arm had done when MG had first stepped out of the shadows that day. Clinging, desperate for something to hold onto so he doesn't float away.
He knows, distantly, that he has to make things better. And he is scared. He is so, so scared. Of trying. Of failing. Of disappearing even if someone will remember him. He's afraid of the static in his mind where memory files used to be. He's afraid of the coding that runs rampant through his system that turns him feral and violent at the flick of a switch.
But those things are distant now. Worries for another time. Because the Spark song that he cannot match but can hear is soothing. It lulls him. The sobs turn to shuddering hiccups, and then quiet, hitched vents. His hold doesn't loosen, even as the rest of the little soldier starts to relax.
And then, almost peacefully, he slides into a recharge. Soothed by the song of a forgotten god.