Three Small Words

Author's Note This ties into the yet-to-be-finished fic Silver Purity, Cursed Crimson (and by extension Before the Storm ties into this), and is one of the reasons I'm holding off on updating it. This is going to be a multi-parter, but unhappily it also still isn't done. Essentially this is one of my characterization efforts for SPCC, though it's turning into a small monster of its own.

Warnings This deals with non-graphic torture and post traumatic stress.

I hate it.

I hate their faces leering down at me. I hate their hands on me, in me; drawing sounds from my broken and wrecked lips and static-ridden vocalizer that I don't want to make. I hate that they laugh at me; at my whimpers and moans, and they work to draw out more. And-Oh Primus-it hurts, it hurts, and there's nothing good about it.

I scream.

I scream and I scream, my voice breaking and buzzing, shrilling as they wrench at my insides, teasing me, laughing at my broken cries. I scream and even though I'm surrounded there is no one to hear me. I scream, but not because I'm frightened (though Primus knows I'm terrified) or from the pain (even though my systems surge and shriek with each horrid twist), but because I am angry. I scream with rage and indignation, because they are doing this to me and I can't do a slagging thing. And it's all building up inside and there is no other way for me to let it out. So I scream. I scream at the sky, I scream at them, I scream at my helplessness; my face soaked in tears that drip into the rents on my cheeks, sending threads of burning pain through my circuits.

And the entire time he is standing there, watching me with those burning red optics. A sneer curls his lips, dental plates glinting white in the dim light of the abandoned moonbases. He's almost like a sparkshade, with his red optics set into his black face, haloed by his ethereal white wings. And even though he was only watching now, it was him that had run his fingers through my doorwings, taking them apart piece by piece. His whispered words replayed through my cortex.

"I know you, Autobot. You watched your whole city get razed to the ground, your friends cut down before your eyes. Buildings tumbled around you, and you were so lost." His red optics had brightened with excitement; his gaze drifting as he lost himself in his memories. Finally his attention returned to me. "You were so alone. Do you remember, Autobot? Do you remember when I spared you."

"I'm not going to talk. You can't make me talk. I won't talk to you and you can't make me talk."

A snicker had hissed past his dental plates. "Talk? Who says we want to hear you talk, Autobot?" The other two, larger mechs-triplechangers- laughed at me. His finger curled on my doorwings, digging into the circuitry that lay underneath the metal plating. "We want to hear you scream, Autobot. Surrender and scream for us."

Now he stood there, arms crossed and he watched me. His voice scraped out, encouraging my two tormentors, directing them when I made particular sounds, having them repeat whatever horrid thing it was so he could hear it again. Oh yes, I screamed, and the only satisfaction I got was that it wasn't in fear. Even if they didn't know it, even if they thought it. I knew, I knew why I screamed.

And I was ashamed of my anger.

And then he knelt down- my tormentors never ceasing their work-and he pulled my battered head onto his thigh. His smile almost turned soft, if I didn't know who he was-what he was- I'd think it was soft, kind. But the purple insignia on his red and white wings was a constant reminder of who he was-what he was. He stroked a hand down my face. Oh Primus, don't touch me, you slagger. Not like that. I can't bear that kind of contact. But his hands traced my cheek seams, skipping over the rents in my face.

"Here you are. So alone, so lost again." His face drew closer to me, his lips brushing my chevron in a familiar way that pulled a weak cry of objection from my vocalizer. "And this time you're no neutral with the potential to become a Decepticon. You are an Autobot."

I glared up at him, my vocalizer hitching and glitching on its own. "Slaggers... destroyed... my home." My voice spat and fizzled, breaking my words into a series of grunts and groans. The larger of the two triplechangers snarled and slapped his hand onto my leg. I don't know what he did, but pain knifed through my systems, originating from my broken legs and spreading upward. I screamed, twisted fingers curled into fists as best as I could make them.

He said nothing until I finally quieted to whimpers and moans, the sky spinning above me. My hands remained clenched at my side; pressed against the ground as pain continued to tremor through me.

"Why, Autobot, I'd almost think that you hated us!" His words came out in mocking surprise. His laughter, their laughter jarred my battered body. "Aren't Autobots supposed to be the purveyors of love and peace. What a failure."

And I screamed.

Suddenly an explosion rattled the ground and one of my tormentors wailed, his body clanging to the ground.

"Get off him, Deceptiscum!"

I could hear the sound of gunfire, and lights flashed on the edges of my vision. Starscream wailed, staggering to his feet, dropping my head and it banged to the ground, blitzing the world in static. Feet pounded around me, kicking me in a flurry of careless retreat. The distinct sounds of transformations being initiated and the scream of engines powering up and roaring away heralded an end to the noise.

The silence was as deafening as the noise had been, broken only by a subtle shifting of metal on metal, and the broken rasp of my ventilators.

I stared up at the sky, not daring to hope that my torture had ended.

A chevroned, winged shadow knelt down next to me, silently looking over my body.

Prowl.

His mouth twisted with emotion as he reached for something out of my line of sight.

My vocalizer buzzed with a moan as I felt the stinging touch of his hand on my injuries.

He glanced up at my face, his optics widened and he pulled his hand back with a sharp jerk. "Bluestreak?" And suddenly there was nothing to be read from his expression, but cool calculation.

I moaned again, trying to get words out of my vocalizer, but it hissed and spat mockingly at my efforts.

Footsteps with a steady, familiar cadence approached and another mech knelt by my head. "Are ya still with us, Blue?"

My fingers scraped and skittered over the debris-littered ground as I reached for them. "NnJazz, Prrowwl." The simple motions of moving my arms drove energon blades through my shoulders and down my door hinges.

A reassuring smile pulled at Jazz's lips and he grasped my hand, hard at first, but his grip relaxed as he glanced down to see how damaged my hand was. "Shh, it's okay, Blue. We gotcha, now." His head twitched toward Prowl, before he curled the fingers of his free hand around my dented knuckles. "Say somethin', Prowl." I wondered if they knew I could hear them.

Prowl took my other hand, his doorwings twitching as he moved closer. "You are safe, Bluestreak."

A roar overlaid any response I might have made.

The roar of jet engines.

Decepticons!

I cried out, in fright, in anger, twisting my broken frame in an effort to move away, but the two black and white mechs held me down with minimal effort.

"Sideswipe, as soon as you are a safe distance from the ground, deactivate your rockets. You are frightening him."

The noise ended abruptly, succeeded by a clang of something heavy dropping a short distance.

"Primus, he's still online?" Sideswipe's normally cheerful voice sounded harsher; almost hissing in anger. He must have seen them off with his rocket pack. That's what I'd heard, not the Decepticons returning.

But if Sideswipe was here, then Sunstreaker must surely be around. Why hadn't he said anything?

"Bluestreak, you will be alright. As you are right now, there is a 67% chance that you will expire before we can get you to Ratchet ."

Jazz stared at Prowl, his mouth set in a tight grimace, his hand all but squeezed my own. "Prowl," he said in the most menacing tone I'd ever heard him use, "that ain't somethin' he needs to hear."

Prowl didn't even look at the saboteur. "If you would permit Sideswipe to clamp your leaks, and allow Jazz or myself to remove the inhibitor preventing you from turning off your pain receptors, then it will only be a 48% chance." His fingers brushed my chevron. He finally glanced up at Jazz. "We will have to transport you to Ratchet. He is unable come here."

"Perceptor? Wheeljack?"

At each name Prowl shook his head, his face finally revealing emotion; his lips set in a grim line. "Sideswipe, get over here." He released my hand, sending a surge of panic through my systems as I thought he was abandoning me. Jazz's reassuring touch calmed me as Prowl spoke to Sideswipe. And then Prowl was back at my side, holding my hand as Sideswipe set to work on my chestplate and torso.

Prowl and Jazz's calm presence, their tight grips kept me from panicking as everything Sideswipe did hurt, sending waves of agony throughout my frame. I couldn't process anything but the throbbing of my systems, my audio sensors buzzing with the feedback of too much trauma. But I knew that the two officers spoke (argued, actually) over my head, to each other, and to the two warriors who accompanied them.

Prowl's grip suddenly disappeared from my hand and I blindly groped for it, whimpering as someone tugged and pulled at my midsection.

"Shh, Blue, Prowl's still there, he's just gettin' the inhibitor off." Jazz's cool hand cupped my cheek, gently pulling my head onto his thigh. So I grabbed at Jazz's hand with my free one, and he quietly collected both my hands into his, pressing them together comfortingly.

"Bluestreak, deactivate your pain receptors. We need to get you out of here. You need a medic, and this location is not secure."

I nodded hazily, still aware of Sideswipe's continued work on my legs. One by one I turned the tactile sensors off.

"Sideswipe, are you almost finished clamping those lines." Prowl's gaze turned from the clawed adapter in his hand to the red warrior.

"Just about. Still have a few leaking. But they're not much." Sideswipe paused and Prowl leaned over to look. "I think he'll be fine with these few lines open. As long as nothing else happens," Sideswipe's voice dropped in volume, as though he didn't want me to know the information.

Prowl leaned further over my legs, his doorwings twitching. "It will have to do." He returned to my head. "Bluestreak, Jazz is going to take you to the camp. Are your pain receptors deactivated?"

I nodded, wincing as even that small motion worked its way down my spinal relay. "Legs... and side." I couldn't see past my chestplate. I couldn't see what the Decepticons had done to me. "No response." My vocalizer hissed and buzzed and I wondered how much longer it would last, before it failed completely.

Prowl touched my shoulder and my chevron again. "It will have to do." He squeezed my shoulder plate. "I need to rendezvous with Smokescreen." He stood, moving away as Jazz gathered my frame into his arms.

"I could carry him."

I couldn't see Sunstreaker, and I was surprised it had taken him so long to speak. But not as surprised as I was at what he said. I'm certain I was a leaking, ragged mess.

"Negative. Your hands need to be free in case the Decepticons notice you are with wounded. You are Jazz's escort, you are more suited to the position. Get going. Sideswipe, you are with me." Prowl suited action to words, transforming, and though I couldn't see him, I heard Sideswipe transform, and the sound of their gunning engines as they moved away.

Jazz straightened, a smile still on his face, though it looked strained. "Let's get ya back to camp." Jazz's grip tightened and he started forward.