Just be a family and cuddle and junk.
Even in his deepest recharge he was aware of the bond. No matter how hard he tried to block it, it was always there. And there were moments that it spiked.
Hard.
Hard enough to wake him. Typically when it was like that it had something to do with the youngest of his gestalt, Breakdown.
He growled.
He didn't like having his recharge interrupted. He liked it even less when the reason for his interruption was because his paranoid brother was overreacting to something stupid.
He blinked his optics online. Something was different here, though. Breakdown's panic attacks where nauseatingly strong and almost seemed real. Normally he would ignore his brother or send one of the others in to console him so as to let himself get some rest, but this time he couldn't kill the need to go and check on his youngest gestalt mate.
Pushing himself off his berth, Motormaster trudged his way to the door and punched in the code to make it open.
He stepped out of his room and crossed the Stunticon common room to Breakdown's door. It was already open and he could see Dead End sitting on the edge of Breakdown's berth, stroking his back and gently coaxing him awake.
He heard the quiet swish of two more doors sliding open and turned to see Wildrider and Drag Strip groggily approach in a half asleep stupor.
"Feels bad tonight," Drag Strip mumbled, coming to a halt a few steps behind Motormaster and peering into Breakdown's room, careful not to make eye contact with the paranoid Lambo.
"Worse than usual," Wildrider added. He pushed his way through the door without a second thought, ignoring the look of concern Drag Strip shot him when he bumped into Motormaster, eliciting a growl from their commander. He plopped down on the berth with his back to Breakdown and reached behind himself to pat Breakdown's shoulder. "Wakey wakey, Breaky. Bad dream's over. Time to come back to reality."
His voice was gentle, Motormaster noticed.
Breakdown's optics shot open and he bolted up from his slab, throwing himself against the wall and whimpering uncontrollably.
Dead End inched closer to his brother, motioning Wildrider to block him if he tried to run. "It's alright. It was just a dream. Let's all calm down and get some rest, okay?"
Breakdown collapsed onto himself, covering his audials and begging whatever monsters plagued his mind to go away.
Dead End finally reached Breakdown's side and gently placed a hand of his shoulder.
Breakdown threw himself into his brother, holding him tightly and trembling as he tried to bury himself in Dead End's chassis.
Drag Strip sidestepped passed Motormaster and joined Wildrider as he made his careful approach.
Motormaster watched them questioningly.
Dead End made eye contact and sent a private message over their bond. When it gets this bad, he can't distinguish reality from illusion. We find he copes best when offered a tangible anchor to attach himself to.
Motormaster nodded slightly. He watched as Breakdown's ragged intakes began to slow and the tremble in his frame began to fade as Dead End, Wildrider, and Drag Strip pressed themselves close and gently assured him that his nightmare was over and he was safe.
Finally, after several long minutes, Wildrider said in a very tired voice, "You want one of us to stay with you tonight, Breaky?"
Breakdown clung to the three of them tighter. He closed his eyes as another trembling fit took over him.
"I'm not spending an entire night with all three of you in this tiny room, "Drag Strip grumbled.
"To the common room then," Dead End said with finality. He rose, Breakdown clinging to him as though his life depended on it, and began to lead their band of tired radicals out the door, down the hall, and into their shared common room.
Breakdown opened his eyes only once to meet Motormaster's gaze. Motormaster was confused by the look he received. It was almost longing. As though Breakdown was somehow sad that he was not a part of their group.
Motormaster shook the thought off. Though he did follow—at a distance—his brothers to their shared space.
He watched as Wildrider helped Drag Strip push their furniture against the walls.
He watched as Dead End carefully sat on the floor, pulling Breakdown into his lap.
He watched as Drag Strip and Wildrider piled in beside them, leaning into their brothers while attempting to stay awake as they fell back into their routine of speaking softly to the paranoid Breakdown.
Motormaster was surprised by how gentle and calm and controlled they all were. He only ever saw them in the day, when yelling at or slapping Breakdown was typically all it took to snap him out of one of his episodes. If it got too out of hand, a simple trounce from Motormaster would do the trick.
Never before had he seen anyone actually take the time to help Breakdown through his paranoia, though, from the look of it, this was a routine thing.
Breakdown's optics met Motormaster's again, the same pleading, longing look shining from them.
Maybe it was his lack of sleep. Maybe he was having a brief lapse in judgment. Maybe he was going soft (not likely). Whenever the case, Motormaster found himself drawn the gaze of his youngest gestalt mate. Before he could register what was happening, he was on the floor, pulling his half conscious brothers to himself, and allowing the warmth of their EM fields to lull his own mind back into recharge.
After a few minutes, the soft hum of five peaceful chassis had joined in unison, creating a sweet melody of restful bliss. Motormaster was almost fully submerged into his own deep slumber when he felt a pinging at the back of his mind.
Slowly, he onlined his optics and looked directly at the source of his second disruption of the night.
Breakdown peeked out from behind Dead End and blinked. He seemed to study Motormaster for a few seconds before barely stopping a small smile from forming nuzzling back into his spot in the pile.
Motormaster could feel him against his chest and privately asked, What were you dreaming about anyway?
Breakdown tensed. You, uh… you were all gone…
Motormaster waited for more of an explanation, but none came. I'm guessing we didn't just decide to leave you, then.
Their optics met again. Usually, you do, but… this time…
Motormaster could feel him begin to tremble. Well, it was a dream, he said gruffly. And… we're all here so… yeah.
Yeah.
Breakdown laid his head back down against Motormaster's chest, Dead End at his back, Drag Strip at his front, and Wildrider on top of their pile. He smiled to himself. His gestalt was still here. And they would be here when he woke up.
He drifted into a dreamless sleep as he listened to the gentle pulsing of his brothers' sparks.
They would be here when he woke up…