ray | they/them | 17 | polyromantic, polyamorous, gray-asexual | autistic
hi friends!! i hope you have a good time on my blog!! ^o^
Fandom: Steam Powered Giraffe
Characters: The Jon, mentions of Michael and The Spine
Author’s Note: I told you I’d fic it. I told you. Got the idea from this lovely piece of art.
“I’m just going out to get milk, Jon, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” laughed Michael as The Jon playfully dragged on his arm. “It’ll be like I never even left if you draw me a picture,” he said with a hug to the robot.
“Yeah, but I never like it when you leave! Nobody else likes to play games the way you and I do!” countered The Jon, his bright blue eyes wide with that pitiful childlike care that he’d always been able to harbour.
“Oh, you’ll be fine, I know you will,” said Michael with one last hug to Jon as he stepped out the door. “Don’t set anything on fire and it’ll be okay. See you!” And the big mahogany doors slid shut as The Jon stood there waving to his best friend in the entire world.
The smallest robot sat in his room and opened the little music box Michael had given him for his hundred-fifth birthday. How long had it been already? Four days? No one was telling him anything. They all said that Michael had gotten hurt, but The Jon knew that was a lie; Michael never got hurt, and all he was doing was getting milk. Maybe the store had run out and he’d decided to wait for the truck to bring more. Yeah, that was it. The brass robot get very excited once more and dashed down the steps to wait for his best friend in the whole wide Earth.
It was kind of funny that Michael hadn’t come back all month. Maybe he had to go out of state to get milk because all the milk in California was sour. The Jon nodded to himself in the mirror and gave a mechanical sigh. Everything was boring around the manor without Michael there. The TV kept going on and on about this shooting that had happened, and no one would talk to The Jon about it. If Michael were there, he’d be the first to talk to The Jon about this funny thing that had happened. No one else ever had time for him. His best friend on the face of the planet surely would be different.
“Jon, you need repairs!” they would all shout. Michael wasn’t home yet. Maybe he had to walk all the way to New York to get milk and that’s why he hadn’t come back all year. Yes, that was exactly it. Wasn’t it? Maybe… Either way, Jon would faithfully wait for his best friend in the galaxy to show up again before he got any repairs, just like always.
He was broken down and worn out, Sam would repair him as he slept in stasis, and he waited by the door every day that next four years. One day, the anniversary of the day Michael went out to get milk, The Spine sat next to his younger brother and hissed out a soft stream of steam.
“What are you doing, Jon?” he asked softly, green eyes not leaving the doors just as The Jon’s own blue ones wouldn’t.
“Waiting for Michael to come back. He should be home any minute,” replied the smaller bot as he watched the doors intently.
“Jon, he’s not… Michael isn’t…”
“He’s not coming back.”
The Jon cocked an eyebrow and turned his head to look at his second oldest brother.
“What do you mean, ‘he’s not coming back?’” asked The Jon.
The Spine’s facial plates slid into a frown and after a few moments, The Jon collapsed into a sobbing wreck in his brother’s arms.
No one had explained death to The Jon.