Title: Frailty of Gods
Author: Red Wasabi
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish, I wish I were a fish—not mine either!
Notes: Bluestreak/Barricade/languish I also kinda tied it something else I wrote just recently, try an' guess what! The italics are supposed to kind of like flashbacks/post traumatic stress syndrome
Rated: PG
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No one had ever asked him why, it had just been assumed. They had all thought that they knew the answer to why Bluestreak had abruptly shifted from an overly talkative bot to a completely silent and pensive one. It was easy, it had to have been something that happened to him while he was a prisoner of Megatron. Only Bluestreak knew how wrong they all were.
Bluestreak's optics narrowed in pain as he made the last skillful and deep incisions into his thigh armor. They had been right—in a matter of speaking—or not, depending on the way you looked at it. Shimmering silver lines of coolant fluids bubbled up from his self-inflicted wound and trembled lightly at the edge of the incision.
Bluestreak winced slightly as the air stung the open wound; his optics studied the interconnecting triangular pattern that was now permanently etched into his leg. In a few days it would stop aching, and would heal over—but for now he needed it to hurt. He needed it as a tangible reminder, so that his memory files would be as scared with the months past events as his leg was now.
Once upon a time, he had thought that there was nothing that connected the Autobot and Decepticon races to one another. One was always inherently good, and one always evil. That was how it had worked—he knew better now. Black and white had melted into one another and formed a foggy gray soup that made it hard for him to tell which had been what, and when.
Bluestreak drew his injured leg up close to his frame and lightly brushed a digit against the weeping gash. He stared blankly as the vital fluids dripped from his digits and onto the berth underneath him. Only one thing had been made clear in the past few months, all his previous conceptions about his fraction--those beliefs that he had clung to about mercy, goodness, and justice were wrong. The Autobot's digits—his own—were just as dirty as any Decepticon soliders' in Megatron's army. They were just better at hiding their stains.
"Welcome to the Pit." A grim voice from somewhere off to the side of him startled Bluestreak severely. Desperately he wheeled around in the small, nearly pitch-black cell, trying to discover the source. A bleak chuckle sounded lowly from the corner furthest from him.
Bluestreak's optics strained as he tried to identify the bot in the inky darkness of their cell. He hadn't been aware that any other Autobots had been captured recently. "You're never getting out of here you know," that somber voice spoke up again. "You'll be here till the day you rust."
Bluestreak moved closer to the bot in question, until he could finally feel them at the edges of his pedes. "You shouldn't say things like that, I bet that Optimus is already organizing a rescue party, and you know how good Jazz is, even if this place is a billion miles beneath the surfaces—it kind felt like it was coming down here—he'll be sure to find us cause he's just that good--"
A low moan form the mystery bot next to him cut Bluestreak off. "They gave me an Autobot as a cell-mate?"
Bluestreak's head cocked curiously as he stared at the black figure on the ground. "Well of course they did, wait—what are you?"
The bot on the ground gave a diverse snort and for the first time turned on his optics. Bluestreak blinked shock at the pair of red optics that glowered from below him. "See what I mean kid? There won't be anyone coming for you—you've been put down into the domestic brig."
Bluestreak slowly uncurled himself from his prone position on his berth. He was scheduled to watch the monitors in a few minutes, and he wanted to get there before the shift change rush that always left the hallways of the Ark cramped and stuffy feeling.
He wasn't sure if he could take that congested feeling anymore. All those optics that would stare at him—at his new frame design; all that hot air being compressed in unison from a dozen internal air compression units. It reminded him too much of the hot, stale air that moved slowly through out the lightless hole in the ground that he had grown used too. That he had begun to think of as home.
It had been a week since Barricade had last responded to him, and it was driving Bluestreak crazy. He knew that the hearty Decepticon wasn't offline from the way he would occasionally hear him moved or grumble something under his breath. Silence wasn't something that Bluestreak dealt with easily; silence was just time to think. Think about what was going to happen to him, about why he had been placed in this prison and not the regular one. To think about what had happened to him in Binacon vorns ago.
Bluestreak hated the silence, and for a while he had tried to fill the quiet void up with senseless chatter, but all of his inane words seemed to disappear in to the heavy darkness tat surrounded him and his cellmate. By the end of the week he had just stopped trying, and had let the disturbing noiselessness swallow him up.
It was the best thing he had ever done. After his initial panic Bluestreak discovered the kind of strange comfort that voluntary muteness provided. Without the constant stream of words falling from his vocalizer he could finally take in his surroundings. The steady rhythm of his cellmate's core processors thumped in time with his own, he could hear the faint whistle of heated air rushing through corridors above them. And for the first time since he was a sparkling he felt at peace with everything. Then Barricade spoke up for the first time in days, and everything came crashing back down.
"He's gone crazy. That's why you're here and not in the other brig, he thinks those guards are plotting against him."
Bluestreak doggedly ignored the obvious bots in the hallways as they tried to covertly stare at the jagged looking design that was still leaking on his thigh. Let them stare, he knew the truth, and the symbol engraved on his leg was proof of it. He would not be deterred by a few dubious looks. As Bluestreak walked into the monitoring room Red Alert's mouth plates opened to greet him but they snapped shut again when his optics saw the deep wound. "If you want to go see Ratchet about getting something for that I can stay here for a while longer," he finally squeaked out. Bluestreak shook his head and moved to sit in the vacant chair next to the screens. Nothing Ratchet did could fix him now.
With a worried glance back at the stern looking bot in his chair Red Alert scurried off to find Ratchet and tell him of Bluestreak's latest development.
Bluestreak's optics stared dully at the screens in front of him as his mind wandered.
"All I'm saying is that, that last time really showed a lack of planning and organization. There were several times during that battle where either side could have taken a chance and won a clear cut victory. But no one did. And what do I get for suggesting that maybe we plan out our battles a little more? I must be plotting against him, blah, blah, blah, and get thrown in the brig!" Barricade's voice cracked painfully at the end of his rant. Both their systems ached from the lack of energon being given to them but Barricade had been in the prison for a much longer time then Bluestreak therefore his system was operating at a much lower function now.
"So how long have we been here Barr?" Bluestreak asked as an unseen but knowing grin formed on his face.
Bluestreak heard Barricade's cynical snort from across the room, he loved asking that question. He asked it at least twice a day. "I don't know who this we is kid, but I've been in here for almost seven months now. You didn't come along till at least my forth month."
Bluestreak rolled over carefully to face his unseen cellmate with a smile, "Really, were you counting all that time or was it just that important to you when I came into you cell?"
He waited for the contemptuous laugh that was really one of delicate desperation, Barricade laughed. Bluestreak smirked. 'Like clock work.' he thought semi-bitterly.
"Of course I know the exact time you were put in here with me Autobot—that when I started starving!"
They both laughed at that, their slow deaths from gradual starvation was inevitable to both of them at this point, and they had discovered that they both preferred to be able to laugh together in the midst of darkness then to stay somber in it alone.
"Bluestreak?" Ratchet's concerned voice dragged Bluestreak's unfocused optics away from the uninteresting screens of the Ark's security monitors and towards the white and red C.M.O. Who was currently talking to him. "Bluestreak? Is there something wrong with your audio receptors now too? I said Prime wants me to give you a full physical in Med. Bay right now, so get moving!"
He nodded numbly at the loud medical officer and began walking along with him to the med-bay. He couldn't really understand why Prime kept having Ratchet run diagnostics on him. He felt fine--
Bluestreak lay panting hard on the unforgiving floor of their cell, he had just been interrogated for the first, and what he hoped was the last time by Soundwave. He could hear the sound of metal dragging across the floor and suddenly he felt a familiar presence looming above him. "Don't tell me you've never seen a bot fresh form interrogation before" he joked weakly up at the dark figure.
Barricade chuckled back feebly "Is that any way to talk to the mech who just dragged himself across the floor to come check on your sorry aft?"
From where he lay crumpled on the ground Bluestreak let out a wet wheeze that was supposed be a laugh, but it sounded more like a dying car engine. "Yeah right, you can't fool me. I know you just came over here to try and eat me for fuel while I'm down."
Bluestreak grimaced as he felt Barricade's battered arm try to encircle his equally damaged frame and lift him up. Barricade let out a strangled moan and they both stumbled awkwardly into the back wall of their cell. Neither of them had strength enough to fully pick themselves up anymore, but they had discovered that together they had just enough to teeter around embarrassingly.
"Now lay down here and be still. I don't want any of the scans to be messed up just because you couldn't keep from twitching." Ratchet reminded Bluestreak unnecessarily. After all he had long since mastered the art of laying down, and being completely still.
They both lay musing voicelessly, but comfortably with each other in the darkness that they had both grown accustomed too.
"I'm sorry." The Decepticon's plaintive tone surprised Bluestreak almost as much as his sudden apology.
"What are you sorry for?" Bluestreak asked genuinely curious as to what Barricade was talking about.
"Well mostly for all of this, now don't go spreading it around to the other cellies, but you're not such a bad mech—for an Autobot. And for Binacon--" He finished in a rush.
Bluestreak lay stunned on the floor for the second time that day. He hadn't thought about Binacon for months—and for some reason for the first time since he could remember thinking about it didn't hurt anymore. It was odd somehow that he had finally found solace in the cell-hold of his enemies, with his enemy—who wasn't really an enemy to him anymore.
"Yeah me too...," he finally whispered to Barricade.
"There is no reason that he can't talk Prime..." Bluestreak only half listened to the conversation that was being animatedly discussed in the office which he sat outside of, his optics stared absently down the hallway.
"Ok, ok, if you get out before I do, you have to try and get me out of here ok?" Bluestreak teased Barricade tiredly.
"Yeah right, we both know you'll be the one to get out of here first. I've already been forgotten, Prime's probably just outside the base door about to break you out." Barricade responded bleakly.
"If anyone ever comes for me, I swear that I'll take you with me Barr." Bluestreak promised solemnly in the darkness.
"What you gonna put that on? A swear means nothing if it isn't put up against something." Barricade snapped back.
Bluestreak didn't answer for a moment and then it finally dawned on him, his face plates pulled in to a painful grin, "I swear on my voice, Barr, if someone ever comes for me I'll take you with me."
"Hey Blue!" Bluestreak smiled at the green up-beat bot who sat down next to him. Hound was a good solider, and an even better friend, if no one else could understand what he had come to discover, Hound could.
"So I hear you still haven't gotten your vocalizer back online yet there Buddy-Blue, and they aren't going to let you out on to any missions for a while right?"
Bluestreak nodded amiably at his green friend, trying not to notice how Hound's optics never seemed to meet with his own.
"I heard Mirage talking, he said that the reason you can't talk is because they did stuff to you..." Hound trailed off, mistaking the growing frown on Bluestreak's face for having spoken the truth. "Well don't stress about it Blue—after all their just Decepticons. They're barley even fit to be called mechs."
"And that was the last bar song that I know..." Barricade wheezed out, Bluestreak almost winced at the sound of Barricade's systems struggling to maintain themselves.
"Maybe you should be saving your energy instead of singing raunchy songs" Bluestreak offered up helpfully from his position on the floor next to Barricade.
"I'm dying Blue—I can feel my systems shutting down on me a little more each day. I have to do something just to keep from going crazy."
Suddenly the cell shook violently and a series of loud rumbles echoed intimidatingly through the labyrinth of tunnels that spanned the entire mountain side.
"Do you suppose the mountain is finally coming down on us?" Barricade asked tensely as he turned to face Bluestreak.
"We can only hope..." Bluestreak jibed back at him.
The faint sounds of yelling, and screaming could be heard coming from one of the cell corridors a little ways away form them. "Do you suppose that it's a prison break?" Barricade reasoned his interest finally becoming piqued.
A familiar voice yelling down the corridors made Bluestreak wrench himself, "I know that voice! They come, someone has finally come for us!"
"Are you sure?" Barricade asked pensively as he tried to sit up on his own but fell back weakly.
"Positive. I'd know those voices anywhere." Bluestreak awkwardly stood up, favoring his left leg. He carefully bent over and held out a hand to the Decepticon on the cell floor next to him. "I said I'd take you with me Barr."
Bluestreak grabbed Barricade's raised digits and with one mighty tug pulled him up to stand shakily beside him. "We're going to be ok, we're going to be--" he whispered meekly into Barricade's audios.
Barricade leaned heavily on Bluestreak, leaving him to quaver uncertainly will trying to hold up both their immense frames. Without warning Bluestreak's arms gave out and he fell tumbling to the ground Barricade landing square on top of his chassis.
"Hey you alrig--" Barricade asked at him, a lopsided grin on his face plates.
"Leave Blue alone Decepticon scum!" Bluestreak could only stare in abject horror as the hopeful optics of his friend suddenly morphed into pained ones, and then went dead all in a matter of seconds.
Bluestreak stared hard at Hound's face plates. He'd thought that he would understand, but obviously he would find no forgiveness for their—his sins, with him. Bluestreak abruply stood up and started walking away form the startled Hound. He ignored his persistent voice calling after him. He was indeed, just a Decepticon—and He was just an Autobot. Both of them part of a race divided down the middle over something as silly as the way they were hardwired differently. Both without a planet to call their own—both lost in space—and in meaning.