Scars

Universe: Human!AU

Rating: T (mentions of violence… duh… both implied and vaguely explicitish M/M… people being depressed…)

A/N: As mentioned above, this is a human!AU... ahahahaha.

Oh, and, er, if you see any "she"s where there should be "he"s... yeah. Watch out for the genderbending. XD

They all had their scars, Ratchet mused as he worked on Bumblebee's wound. The blond was being remarkably patient, aside from tapping his foot restlessly. At least the anesthetic had done its work; Ratchet had seen Bee's young face twisted in pain far too often.

"Do you think it's gonna leave a mark?" Bee asked, craning his neck to see. "So I can look big and tough like 'Hide?" Ratchet gave him a gentle clout on the head.

"Don't move," he said grumpily. "I just finished stitching it shut. Do you want to open it up again?"

Bee drummed his heels. "It felt deep enough," he continued. "Barricade was too close to use his weapons, so I thought I was safe… I didn't think he'd have a knife. It slid right out of his gauntlet. Hey, Ratchet, can I have one of those?"

"I want you to concentrate on keeping away from the Decepticons. You shouldn't be close enough to need a blade."

"But… but Jazz has one! And Optimus! And you, too!"

"No. Stick with your guns… it's safer."

Bee was blessedly silent for a moment as Ratchet began to bandage his injury. Then he shifted. "So… is it gonna leave a scar?"

Ratchet sighed, looking down at his own hands, which were criss-crossed with thin white lines from years of handling razor-sharp surgical blades. Each mark told of pain and screaming, blood and worse things, brave Autobots dying despite everything the medic did. Bumblebee was young, free of scars, free of pain.

"I hope not."

The steady stream of quiet cursing woke Frenzy. He yawned and poked his head out from his dark nest of blankets, blinking blue eyes in the daylight before sliding his red visor into place. With the painful light dimmed, he could see his partner sitting on the floor, trying to tie a bandage with his teeth.

"B-Barricade?" he asked, deliberately slowing his speech to avoid stuttering too much. "Need-d help?"

"No," the scout snarled, glaring at the offending strip of linen. "It's not your shift yet. Go to sleep."

Frenzy slipped silently out of the bunk and made his way to where Barricade wrestled with the medical supplies. It was unsurprising that he was doing this himself; none of the others were trustworthy enough to play medic. As the bandage slipped from the scout's hands again, Frenzy caught it. Barricade's eyes flashed, but he huffed and looked resolutely away. In a few quick, careful movements, Frenzy had taken care of the first wound and moved on. The silence was maintained. The spy was uncomfortably aware of the tension in Barricade's lean frame and kept his touches light and impersonal… one wrong move and Barricade could beat him into a pulp.

Being injured was a compromising position for any Decepticon to find himself in. There was a tenuous network of distrust, of usefulness and expendability, of position and power, that they were all woven into, a dangerous and at times deadly game in which a player's main asset was intimidation. The one whom the others feared tending to stay alive the longest. Allowing the invincible exterior to drop by seeking medical aid was a sign of weakness. Thus, Deceptions tended to be their own medics.

Frenzy was unsure of where he stood with Barricade. They were partners and therefore closer to each other than most of their kind ever got, but they were still Decepticons. Barricade's tension was proof enough of that. Still, that he was even allowing Frenzy to treat his injuries was a sign of trust. And Frenzy could admit to himself that he would lay his life in Barricade's capable hands if need be.

His fingers brushed an old scar and Barricade gave a warning growl. Frenzy ducked his head sheepishly, tying off the bandage on the last of the wounds. He glanced up at his partner's face and saw a bleeding gash just under his right eye.

"He g-got your f-face," he muttered, leaning up. Barricade drew back, but not fast enough to stop Frenzy from licking the blood away. The spy found himself on his back within moments, looking up at a very angry Decepticon. He only smirked, running his tongue nervously over his lips, feeling Barricade's hands tighten on his thin arms.

Trusting Barricade and being trusted in return was worth a few scars.

"That's nothing," Bonecrusher snorted, baring his biceps to show off a mottled burn. "Now this is impressive."

"Oh yeah?" Brawl answered, pulling up his shirt to proudly display his own burn scar on his chest. "Beat that one!"

"'Hide, tell me a story," Jazz urged, stretching out on her couch like a cat.

"'Bout what?" Ironhide answered, in the middle of meticulously polishing his arm cannons.

"Anything. I'm bored," the SIC replied. "Nothing to do around here today."

Ironhide eyed her thoughtfully, gaze straying. Although Jazz was like a little sister to him, he could still appreciate her smooth, dark skin and sumptuous curves. "What makes you think I know any stories?"

"Those," Jazz said, drawing a finger across the bridge of her nose and diagonally across her lips, matching the pattern of scars on Ironhide's face. "A story for every one, if you care to remember. For example." She tilted her head back, showing the thin white line slashing across her throat. "Starscream, six vorns back. Almost had me that time, but you know me… harder to kill than the Vassian plague."

Ironhide chuckled. "Yeah, I've got some. Dozens of them. But these, these are special." He rubbed the old scars on his face, smile fading somewhat. "Megatron. Fifteen vorns ago."

Jazz sat up, intrigued. "The start of the war?"

"The very beginning," Ironhide murmured. "I was younger then."

"What happened?"

Ironhide gazed at the wall without seeing it. The memory was as fresh in his wind as though it had happened yesterday… he could still smell the smoke, still hear the screams…

"I had to get Optimus out of the capitol." Her hand had been tight in his. She, too, had been younger then. Innocent. Terrified. "He tried to stop us." He'd felt Optimus falter, seen the tears, heard the tremble in her voice. He'd watched her heart break, unable to do anything to prevent it. "I held him off while she got away. Almost took my eyes… almost took everything, come to think of it." Even now, after fifteen vorns to get used to seeing him on the other side of the battle, Ironhide was still conscious of the bitter taste of betrayal. "But I got out of there alive." He remembered crawling through the wreckage, keeping under the smoke, blood pouring from his injuries. He'd made it nearly out of the city when he passed out. That was where she'd found him again, Ratchet at her side, and together they'd carried him away from there.

"Wow," Jazz said, eyes wide. "You survived Megatron… Primus, 'Hide, there aren't many who can say that. Two? Three?"

"I had to," Ironhide murmured. "I had to get out of there." I had to protect her when he failed. She's worth protecting… the only light left in this world.

It was one of those rare times where Skorponok felt content. He curled closer to his mother, hand resting on the long scar on her belly, the only flaw in her otherwise perfect ivory skin. He had long since forgotten the guilt he had initially felt when he learned that he had indirectly caused it, for the medics had cut him from her womb before his time. But he had survived, and he had grown strong, and he pleased his mother and his master. Some called him demon… he cared not, for killing brought affection and praise. Each scar he brought home was tended to lovingly by his mother's graceful fingers. Each Autobot reported dead earned rewards.

Of a father, Blackout never spoke. It was enough that Skorponok performed his duties flawlessly.

Slender fingers toyed with the catches of his armor, crimson eyes gleamed playfully but also slyly, a razor-sharp smirk parted to whisper into his ear. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Megatron knew how to play this game and play it well. His opponent was just as skilled, so they kept their eyes on each other, smiling in anything but friendliness. Starscream's fingers skittered over his skin, likely looking for the best place to put a knife. In retaliation, Megatron ran warm fingertips over the knotted scar on his second's side, a subtle reminder. Many of the marks decorating Starscream's pale skin had been dealt by Megatron himself rather than the Autobots. He navigated by touch alone, not daring to take his eyes off of Starscream's for an instant, hands crawling up the smaller man's back to press at the horrific scarring on his shoulderblades, evidence of an experiment gone horribly wrong.

Starscream had come away mutilated; Shockwave hadn't come away at all.

At the touch Starscream's hands tightened, nails digging into Megatron's flesh, over scars he himself had left there. Megatron only smiled, enjoying it as his second threw his head back, teeth gritted to restrain a cry of pain. He leaned closer to murmur into Starscream's ear.

"The Autobot who marks your face will pay dearly indeed."

Starscream sneered. "Since that's the only part of me that you haven't marred."

"Hush."

"Make me," Starscream hissed, and Megatron did.

It was a strange relationship they shared, the epitome of the interplay between all Decepticons. In this game, the stakes were high—one slip meant death. But they both knew how to play.

The strange question caught Optimus off guard. Did he really see her as so pure, so untouched by pain and war? She blinked at Bee for a moment, then looked away, thinking of a touch that might once have been caring, a smile that might once have been loving; then of a heart blackened and twisted with hate, a gaze dark with madness, before answering.

"There are some scars that can't be seen."

A/N: More, Y/Y? Hahaha...

"How come the Decepticons only have one girl and the Autobots have two?"

Um... well... Starscream is close enough? XD