Disclaimer: I don't own them.
First Aid started forward in alarm at the first few notes out of Mirage's vocalizer, but Hot Spot quickly moved forward and placed hands on his shoulders, drawing him back against his side as Mirage continued to sing. They had never heard him sing before, but they'd gotten the impression from the reactions of the other mechs in the rec room, when Mirage had finally agreed to grace them with a song, that they were in for a rare treat.
Easy, Aid, Hot Spot tried to reassure him through their gestalt bond, thoughts flowing clearly with the physical contact. He could sense First Aid running through his inventory of possible painkillers, or maybe it would be kinder to put Mirage directly into stasis?
Hot Spot winced as Mirage's voice rose in a prolonged wail, sliding higher and higher and then wavering about as if he was being dropped repeatedly from a great height. I think…I think it's supposed to sound like that? I hope? Hot Spot thought at First Aid, firmly holding his arms down as First Aid quivered and tried to access one of his medical supply storage panels.
Streetwise and Blades, equally horrified, moved in on either side of First Aid and leaned in close. Oh…poor Mirage…First Aid's concern rolled through them in a wave of distressed empathy as Mirage let out a series of…Aid's thoughts paused for a moment, at a loss.
Bleats? Streetwise suggested, optic ridges held high in astonishment.
More like yowls, was Blades' contribution, shaking his head slightly in dismay.
Mirage's optics were shuttered, thankfully, as he sang, so he hadn't noticed their expressions, although the same could not be said for Silverbolt. He had glanced in their direction when the singing began, and was now firmly ignoring them, his mouthplates pressed together tightly and his wings and shoulders quivering a little every now and then.
Hot Spot, I don't think I can stand it. You have to let me help him, First Aid sent, and Groove moved in front of him and took one of his hands, stroking it soothingly.
Look, Ratchet's not worried, Groove reassured them all, an amused note threading through his thoughts. He's not in pain, Aid; this must be what High Towers singing sounds like.
Ratchet was indeed listening to Mirage with every indication of enjoyment. So was Wheeljack. So was Ironhide. And Optimus. And Prowl. Jazz was staring at the ceiling dreamily, one hand moving lightly up and down with the rise and fall of Mirage's voice. Blaster had propped his chin on his hand and was gazing at Mirage, optics starry, and Hound was smiling at the noblemech fondly. The Aerialbots just looked bored (aside from Silverbolt, who still wouldn't look in their direction), as Mirage's voice made another circuit-wrenching wail. Fireflight was actually recharging with his head on Skydive's shoulder.
Streetwise tilted his head to the side. The other four could almost hear the wheels in his processor spinning, trying to figure out what the song was about (someone deactivating slowly and horribly? Blades suggested dryly). It was Ancient Cybertronian, that much they could tell. They knew a little of it, both spoken and written; Mirage had been the one to teach them, but they were hard-pressed to pick out even single words from the…cacophony? Streetwise suggested.
It's not that bad, Groove thought at them. Just different. They just weren't used to it. Very very different, Groove amended, as Mirage let out another soaring cry, and First Aid let his helm drop against Groove's back with a silent whimper. He's going in and out of tune on purpose, Groove marveled, patting First Aid's hand. He must have trained for vorns to be able to do that.
Groove was wondering if he could learn to sing like that, too, without traumatizing First Aid into a processor meltdown. As long as you try it where I can't hear you, First Aid suggested, cycling air deep into his vents. Just breathe. Oh my. Mirage started another series of the warbling yowls.
He's almost done, Aid, just hang in there, Hot Spot encouraged. He was trying to think of diplomatic words to thank Mirage for the singing. Interesting. Interesting was always a safe word. Or: that was amazing, Mirage. Groove enjoyed it especially. Or maybe: we've never heard anything like it. That would be true enough, right? The song was growing on him, really. It wasn't that bad; Groove was right.
Yeah, yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Hot Spot. Blades laughed at him silently, not fooled a bit.
Mirage ended with a long agonized keen (Groove let out a silent cheer), and the gathered Autobots applauded with enthusiasm while Mirage smiled modestly. First Aid gusted a relieved sigh through his vents.
"That was really amazing Mirage," Hot Spot told him as they filed out of the rec room. First Aid gave a tremulous smile as he went by and suddenly stopped and engulfed Mirage in a tight hug.
"You enjoyed it that much, did you?" Mirage looked surprised, but pleased as he hugged First Aid back a little bit.
"I'm just so happy you're ok," Aid said into Mirage's shoulder, voice muffled.
"All right, come on First Aid," Hot Spot said, taking him again by the shoulders. "We've got an early shift tomorrow. Thanks again for the song, Mirage!" Mirage's expression was slightly puzzled, but still smiling, as the Protectobots led their brother away.
"You know, Hound," Mirage said later, sharing a cube of energon after everyone else had left, "those Protectobots are remarkable, they really are. Such appreciation for fine culture and music. I absolutely hated those songs when I was a youngling."