AN: For a friend from Twitter, who wanted to see this pair who I secretly ship, in a story together. Technically this is a little spoilerish, but meh. It'll explain stuff later on. Running series AU, Pre-Earth.
Thank you Darkness_Rising who beta'd :D
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and I own nothing. I'm just playing in my sand box.
He sat crouched in the craggy outcrop of the mountainside on some distant planet, the rain falling in sheets in the darkness of the night. He couldn't remember the name of said planet, and it had been far too long since he bothered trying to. He had seen too many worlds, destroyed too many civilisations to bother remembering each and every one he passed through.
He was a killer, a destroyer, the apocalypse bringer. He went where they told him to go; either the Company, or Megatron, or the voices he sometimes heard, and he let instinct take over. He killed who he was ordered to, and all those who dared to stand in his way or against him. Sometimes the voices told him who to kill and who to spare, although the latter were few and far between.
Well, only, a single mech really.
He had seen it all, far too much to attempt to remember, and heard it all. All 'heroes' had the same lines, the same reasons to try and stop him. The words may have altered slightly, the languages usually differed, but the meaning was always the same.
He was evil and they were good. They needed to survive, and they would be the ones to stop him. He was a monster, blah, blah, blah…
The end result was always the same too. They all died, by his servo, or sword, or gun. He ripped them apart, blasted their sparks from their chest, slashed them into pieces. He left them in chunky bits on the ground and puddles of stale energon for someone else to find later.
It was always the same; for all but one.
There was one mech who never bothered to hide his fear the few times they had come face to face. And although the little Autobot was a brave and even noble fighter, willing and ready to take on much larger opponents, the feisty little blue mech never tried it with him; wrecker or not.
When Blurr did manage to stumble across his path, his bright optics would widen in fear, mouth dropping partially open in shock as he looked the titan mech up and down. His green, white and purple armour usually soaked in energon and mech-fluid.
Blurr would take one look at him, and bolt. He was too fast for Sixshot to hit, or to chase down, and the Decepticon never tried to.
The racer was the only one the voices told him to never kill; to never, ever harm. Sixshot wasn't sure why, but he just knew that if the small wrecker was ever harmed by his servo, his world would end. So he let him go, to race back to his commanders and warn them all that he was there; and he would watch the racer run as hard as he could, nothing more than a smudge of blue against the dark, unforgiving scenery of black.
Sixshot would sigh, almost in contentment when he watched Blurr run; he and all the voices in his head. He liked watching Blurr run, it was hypnotic, relaxing in a way to see that perfect body working, all pistons firing at once, to hear the roar of his engine and the look of pure glee on the former racer's face.
Although, Sixshot hadn't seen that look up close ever, no matter how much he would have liked to.
He used to watch Blurr race, back before war had really broken out. After his death matches, he would still be covered in slime and grime from battle, and he would watch the racer run his race. He would sigh, in delight, finding peace watching Blurr, not bothered by the terrified stares of those around him.
That however, was a very long time ago.
They were at war now, and Blurr, his perfect Blurr, was the enemy. He was supposed to kill the Autobot, but he couldn't even bring himself to lift his weapon to point it at the blue Autobot, never mind pull the trigger.
So he guarded the former racer, and followed his career through time as he joined the Autobots, as a grunt, then working with Jazz in Special ops, before moving to work with Kup and the Wreckers. Along the way, he watched out for the blue mech; a secret, slightly obsessive, guardian from the pits, killing anyone who dared stand in the way of the former racer.
He had saved Blurr many a time, and he had lost count of the number of times he had gone out of his way to protect the Autobot; the Wrecker having never known what he had done for him. An unspoken guard, a bringer of death, and Blurr would likely never know how many had died for him.
Sixshot heaved a deep vent, the air fogging in front of his face mask, dim crimson optics watching the racer as he weaved his way through the narrow canyon pass that would eventually lead him to back to his ship. The data Blurr carried would reveal the placement of several key ships in the area, Onslaught's being one of them.
Canting his helm, the six-phaser sighed. He liked Onslaught, he really did. The commander was one of the few highly intelligent ones who actually had the power to back up his intellect. A rare commodity among the Decepticons, which lead to no one ever mocking him for being too smart.
A small newbie on his ship had tried it once, long before Onslaught had become commander and was still a low tactician. It had taken himself, and Vortex, days to scrape the remains off the walls of the ship.
There was something special about Onslaught that Sixshot liked, respected, and the Six-phaser would have gladly followed the now commander and his odd little crew. Although, if they were not careful, their actions were going to anger Megatron himself and it would land the whole lot of them in the Decepticon detention center.
Onslaught's crew and what they did on the side, where none of his concern, but Sixshot still liked him.
Crimson optics watched as Blurr easily leapt over debris left from battle, a blue haze that sped like water through the narrow path. The information he carried would harm Onslaught; but to stop the Autobot would mean killing him.
Neither prospect was appealing.
Opening a comm. link, Sixshot waited for the connection to the Decepticon commander.
There was a long pause as the line came through, Onslaught knowing who was on the other end.
::Sixshot?:: came the almost hesitant question, the tactician in him analyzing the situation.
::You need to move your ship out of orbit and out of this system.::
::What!?:: The anger came so quickly. ::Why?::
Sixshot shrugged, knowing the other couldn't see him as he watched the racer run, his own systems heating up at the mere thought of being able to move so quickly, of having a frame so efficient.
Sometimes, when alone for so long, and when the voices were silent for so long, he wondered what it would be like to have that high performance frame pulled flush to his much larger one; to feel the powerful engine pulse and vibrate against him. To feel him over and under him…
The thoughts, the few pleasant ones he had were cut short when he saw, at the end of the path, a trap being set up. Clearly, Blurr had not made good on his escape, and someone had figured out where he had gone.
Anger flushed his lines as he watched Blurr race closer to his doom, followed by a flow of excitement. Anticipation. The voices suddenly reawakening, whispering softly They are noble Decepticons, worthy to die by your servo.
They'll harm the special one. Can't let that happen. Whispered another.
Sixshot snarled softly as he shouldered his rifle, pressing his optic to the scope and honing in on those who dared trespass in his territory, those who would dare harm his special one. He wished, briefly, that he could rip them apart with his own claws, to feel their innards on his servos, but he would never make it in time, so this would have to do.
::Sixshot!:: Onslaught snarled though the comm. lines, his voice a rough static that lead the six-phaser to wonder if he had interrupted something.
::You've been compromised.:: Sixshot stated. ::No one will be able to stop the messenger.::
There was another pause as Onslaught took in that information, Sixshot lining up his shot that would end the first Decepticon's life.
::Understood.: Onslaught said eventually, voice tight. ::Your aid is appreciated.:: The closest thing to a thank you Onslaught would ever give. ::Over and out.::
Behind his dirty battle mask, Sixshot smirked, his frame humming in excitement, spark burning overly hot and fuel pump operating faster. But his vents were oddly calm and smooth.
Chuckling darkly, Sixshot muttered to himself. "You're welcome." As he pulled the trigger.
The first body dropped, and he felt a small buzz of thrill. He pulled the trigger again just as the Decepticon's comrades turned to see what had happened, and the second fell, followed by the third, the fourth, the fifth and finally the sixth.
It was over too quickly, and now they lay in a pool of bubbling energon, bodies sprawled where they had landed.
Calmly, Sixshot slung his rifle over his shoulder, his earlier excitement now numbed and hollowed. He hated long distance kills, they made him feel weak and useless. Less than what he was. He could have done more, Blurr deserved for him to do more, but he would never have made it in time before the racer would have triggered the trap. This was better; easier.
However it still left an ashy taste in his mouth, and his digits tingling with the need to do something.
He watched as the Autobot came to the mouth of the pathway, skidding to a halt. His shocked face contorted into horror, still beautiful to Sixshot, as he looked around at the mild carnage of bodies. Heaving a sigh, Sixshot wished he was down there with the blue mech, so that Blurr could see, and know, who had done this for him; what he was willing to do for him.
Yet, he knew this was not possible, knew that Blurr would never be his and that he was doomed to only watch from afar, like some twisted guardian. Still, he could always imagine what it would be like.
He watched as Blurr looked around nervously before darting off, bouncing over the strewn bodies and racing out into the wide open prairie and back to his own ship, where his own faction waited.
Sixshot sighed, wishing to follow; another day, perhaps.
The way was clear for Blurr now, the six-phaser had made sure of that, and the speedy mech would return, unharmed, back to his comrades.
As for Sixshot, his digits still tingled and almost shook with anticipation. His tanks felt tight with need and his large, war type frame was coiled too tightly, like a spring ready to pop. He needed to kill, the voices in his helm turning to a bloody thirsty need now, urging him to leap into the action he so desperately needed.
He had his list from Megatron, and he would set about killing them off, one by one. It would take the edge off and calm his frame once more. Until the next time he would be lucky enough to see Blurr. Maybe next time, he would gather his courage and actually speak to the Autobot.
The corners of his lips twitched. Yeah, next time he would get closer to the Autobot, and maybe he would figure out what kind of spell the blue mech had cast over him.
With that happy thought, Sixshot turned, and finished his climb up the rocky mountain. He had his own job to complete.