Title: Handle With Care (This End Up)

Aft-In-Chief: Shibara ( shibara-ffnet . livejournal . com )

Aft-Kicker: Bibliotecaria_D ( archiveofourown users / Bibliotecaria_D )

Warnings: restraint, psychological torture/manipulation, Overlord's lips, and misuse of bubblewrap. Also, adapting an IDW characterization to G1.

Rating: PG

Continuity: G1 (ish)

Characters: Vortex, Overlord, Decepticons

Disclaimer: Hasbro owns the Transformers.

Motivation (Prompt): "What if Vortex had met Overlord?" + Bubblewrap

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0 0 Part One 0 0

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Life on Earth was strange, after the tense war-world that Cybertron had become. There were long periods of nothing followed by brief periods of intense, hectic everything. The battles here cycled in a way they never had on their own planet. Back on Cybertron, the warfront had spanned entire hemispheres, and the fighting never stopped. There were always active hotspots and fortresses ready to launch major offensives. Stand-offs between battalions dug in on either side of contested areas could last years.

Here on Earth, there were two bases. Two. Neither really had room to quarter a battalion for three days, much less keep them battle-ready for longer than a week before cramped conditions got someone shot with friendly fire. There were no hotspots or fortresses or even recurring-action areas on Earth. There were raids, temporary outposts, and small-scale battles that were usually over before a local day had passed.

If Megatron or Optimus Prime didn't order it, action didn't happen. Months could pass before the Decepticons showed up causing trouble somewhere or the Autobots snuck under the ocean to harass them preemptively. Especially in winter. Nobody wanted to leave their bases in winter. They'd tried fighting on ice once, and there'd been mechs falling left and right, slipping and sliding through Detroit. Never again!

The Decepticons stuck to the equator after the Detroit battle. Winter on Earth could go frag itself. Still, it'd almost been worth the chill and humiliation of skidding around just to have seen Optimus Prime plow through Megatron on accident. The Decepticon leader had slid at the exact wrong moment, and the big rig's brakes were useless on ice. Also, Starscream unintentionally bowling for Minibots while trying to land on the freeway had totally been worth listening to him shriek while stuck upside-down in a snowbank afterward.

So things like winter limited the battle zones even further, lengthening the cycles, and that left Decepticons and Autobots alike with a lot of spare time. Everyone was on alert in case of attack, but 'alert' on Earth didn't mean the same as on Cybertron, where venturing past the perimeter could get mecha sniped. There was a lot of unsecured, faction-neutral territory on Earth. The only perimeters that mattered were the ones surrounding bases and outposts, which left the rest of the planet to wander around on.

It was strange having that much freedom, suddenly. Paired with having a lot of between-battle time to spend doing whatever they wanted, it led to Autobots and Decepticons randomly showing up all over the planet. If neither side made a big deal about what they were doing, then it didn't make them targets. In the lulls between attack and counter-attack, if one side didn't go looking for trouble, the other side often let them be.

It led to the occasional weird incident, however. Skywarp and Thundercracker kept ending up in the Pacific islands, apparently engaged in volcano sight-seeing and sport-flying for unknown reasons. The Insecticons were on a quest to try all the local foods of every country they ended up in, which disturbed street vendors the world over. Oddly, New York City hot dog street vendors just shrugged and asked them what they wanted on their dogs, and the pizza joints mentioned having served stranger customers. Something about mutant turtles.

The Constructicons had some sort of argument while in Egypt. Alarmed locals called for the Autobots when someone overheard Scavenger trying to persuade the others to let him bring the 'lawn ornaments' home to install near Darkmount. Since he seemed to be talking about the Great Pyramids, there was reason for concern, especially since he seemed so insistent on collecting the whole set. Scrapper actually looked relieved when the Autobots arrived to chase the Constructicons out of the country.

The Decepticon air ranks unofficially took over any human city with an air show going on, and the Autobots unofficially let them. The jets didn't seem intent on causing trouble; they just liked watching the humans do air tricks, like indulgent university students attending a kindergarten class. If they were bored enough to stretch their own wings, they'd even show off a display or two of Decepticon parade formations for appreciative audiences.

The Decepticons, in turn, looked the other way during the major car shows. Well, except for those Decepticons who appreciated a nice set of wheels. They joined the Autobots in the ogling during the car shows, because whoa, could the humans design some sweet rims!

But that was off-duty. On-duty, there were only so many monitors in the Decepticon base that needed watching. There was base maintenance, of course, but that was mostly left to whoever was out of favor that week. Nobody liked getting sea water and fish in unmentionable areas, and that's what base maintenance inevitably entailed. Even inside the base, which was a mystery the Constructicons were still trying to solve. There was manufacturing energon from the tiny thermal stations and wind farms and whatnot that the Decepticons had installed around the globe, and guarding those hidden energy sources from Autobot interference. There was also transporting the energon back to the base or to the space bridge for shipping to Cybertron.

That still left a lot of Decepticons sitting around doing nothing during their duty shifts. Since that was a recipe for traitors and things getting blown up - these concepts weren't necessarily unrelated - Megatron decided that his Earth forces could use some training. Mandatory combat training rotations were scheduled.

In the short term, that meant the Constructicons got a lot more work suddenly. In the long term, that meant the Decepticons on Earth were slowly being honed from deadly weapons of war into really fragging scary deadly weapons of war. There was something about getting thrown about a training rink regularly that knocked the dull edges off before they got a mecha killed in battle. Live longer, learn more; go on to kill and repeat the cycle.

Meaning that the battles got correspondingly more nasty. If the Autobots hadn't been training just as vigorously over in the Ark, the battles on Earth could have taken a turn for the fatal much more often. As it was, the troops on Cybertron were beginning to regard the forces on Earth with a fearful sort of awe. When Prime and Megatron had left Cybertron, they'd left with the best of their factions. What they were now was distilled down from that. The best combat abilities in the factions squared and shared.

That didn't make the mecha being trained any saner. Case in point: Vortex.

Most Decepticons considered training with their own units normal, and training with Megatron a gruesome endurance test of walking through the Pit. There was a rash of traded duty shifts whenever the ex-gladiator and current Supreme Commander decided he wanted some sparring time of his own. He didn't hold the habit of pulling his punches even during training, figuring that pain taught Decepticons not to make the same mistake twice.

That was true, but mostly the mistake they learned not to repeat was sparring with Megatron. Unlike saner mechs, however, Vortex thought bodily injury was hilariously entertaining. He bounced into the training ring to face Megatron like it was adventure time.

Megatron promptly put him through the floor. Literally; Bonecrusher had to extract him from the ceiling of the room below.

Apparently, the loyalty program didn't allow the Combaticons to attack their lord and master even during training. The best they could manage was dodging. That was okay, or so Vortex claimed. He'd had his fun trying to hold up his end of the fight for more than half a klik. That was what he told Hook when he woke up again, anyway.

The surgeon stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head and declaring him as fixed as possible considering the obviously defunct state of his cerebral circuits. He immediately demanded the crazy 'copter get out of his sight.

The Combaticon took being forcibly ejected from the repair bay well. He hummed a little as he walked the halls, in fact. To him, it had been a wonderful day. All of it, from the light training in the morning (a.k.a., playtime with Blast Off) to the heavy training afterwards (a.k.a., introduction of face mask to floor). The night, too, was going rather pleasantly, what with all the little mechly interactions of being accused of insanity and so forth. He could hear the normal hum of conversations coming from the direction of the rec-room, and somebody was screaming in that direction as well. Ah, all the sounds of home.

It had been a peaceful day, overall, and Vortex needed desperately to carve his name into that. Because peaceful was painfully overrated.

A day with such a good start had to have a good ending. The 'copter had to make sure of it. So after the light training (competitive shuttle groping), the heavy training (damaging the floor with his face), and a relatively peaceful refueling (the survivors would crawl back to their quarters eventually), he went for a walk through the Victory.

He hadn't even been sure of what exactly he was looking for until he saw him: Breakdown. There was a twitchy Lamborghini loose in the halls. Tsk. Motormaster should know better than to let his resident paranoid out to roam. Who knew who'd stumble upon the poor little car?

The cream-colored Stunticon was walking briskly from a side corridor into the main hall and back again. He was clearly looking for something, and Vortex almost wondered what before deciding it was unimportant. What was important was that one of his favorite victims was out and about and unprotected, busily scanning the floor instead of keeping a look-out for a helicopter with a thing for tormenting him. Vortex felt his spark fill with warmth at the sight.

Breakdown looking for something translated into Breakdown not looking where he was going. His optics were scanning the floor nervously, back and forth. Vortex ghosted up on the Stunticon silently when the smaller mecha came down the hall from the side corridor again. The car's optics were firmly locked on the floor. If he kept on going, just maybe four or five more paces -

Bump.

Breakdown made a sound like a piece of metal rasping against concrete and jumped backwards, knocking his elbow against the nearest wall. He immediately turned, making sure his back was to it defensively.

Oh dear, now why would he do that? Vortex, full of concern for his fellow Decepticon, came closer to the smaller mecha's trembling frame. To check if he was alright, of course. Defensive body posture and shaking hands surely meant that the Stunticon felt frightened, even threatened. Vortex would be an unsupportive teammate if he didn't see if there was something he could do to help his fellow Decepticon in his time of need!

If that meant he was backing Breakdown into the corner of the corridor one slow step at a time, then he most surely wasn't doing it on purpose. Vortex, looming? Pshaw. Perish the thought.

The Lamborghini started violently when his retreat was cut off by the corner. He started blustering, right on cue. "Vortex. Watch - watch where you're going!" the ground-pounder spat with a slight rumble of those lovely specialized engines.

Vortex stared in silence at the nervous mech a few seconds beyond what was conventionally normal. Once the ground-pounder began fidgeting, the 'copter dipped his helm toward him slightly as if he was confiding a secret. "Are you sure it's here?" he asked quietly, one half of his visor flashing on and off in a knowing wink.

Breakdown looked at him, confused. "I - What do you mean?" The hands he'd pressed to the walls curled a bit, the fingers relaxing slightly as hesitant interest stole some of the fear-tension from them.

"I mean, are you sure that you lost it here?" As he spoke, Vortex backed up a step, giving the Stunticon some space. It fostered the tiny hint of security, encouraged the interest, and really just lured the doomed mecha into his verbal trap. He lowered his voice a touch, making the car lean forward to follow him. "Are you sure it isn't where you just came from? Have you looked there properly?"

Breakdown glanced back down the corridor with wide, uncertain optics before looking back at the Combaticon. "You don't even - " He caught himself and straightened, pushing away from the wall to fold his arms and tip his chin up defiantly. "What makes you think I'm looking for something?"

The soft growl from the car's engine revved subtly faster, betraying the Stunticon's false bravado, and Vortex listened to the uneasy sound with satisfaction.

He tsk-tsked with a small shake of his helm. "Breakdown, of course you're looking for it. What makes you think I don't know what you're doing?"

The Combaticon took away the space he had given the trembling mecha, approaching him until their chest-plates almost touched. The Lamborghini stayed strong for a moment longer, but the taller, heavier Decepticon stared him down. After a klik, the car caved and edged away, back slowly pressing into the wall again. The revving climbed higher and higher, more noticeable by the second.

Vortex let him go, just watching. "By now, you should know that I always know, Breakdown." The helicopter sighed wearily. "Go on," he flapped a hand dismissively, turning away, "keep looking. I'll just go back to my quarters, so don't bother letting me know when you do find it." He flashed his visor over one shoulder. "Because I'll already know, you know."

With that, the 'copter ambled off at a sedate pace in the direction of the Combaticon gestalt quarters. When he reached the first intersection, however, he turned left and stood just inside a maintenance drone closet to listen attentively. It usually took a bit more insinuation and threat for Breakdown to work his way into a full-blown panic, but this was Vortex's good day, after all.

Less than a klik later, the whining of engines had built loud enough to be heard the length of the corridor. Vortex felt it grow steadily in volume and power as Breakdown sprinted back to his gestalt's quarters, blindly seeking reassurance. The revving accelerated, and the accompanying jarring rattle through the metal of the floors and walls became a minor localized earthquake, and, yes, perfect.

'Right about... now,' Vortex thought, and with a pop, the lights in the corridor burst.

Followed by the exasperated groans from mecha in the nearby rooms. Followed by Breakdown scrabbling on the Stunticons' door, completely frantic. Followed by Motormaster angrily shouting.

In the complete darkness, Vortex listened to a chorus of curses in a dozen different voices. Nobody was happy, and everyone knew who to blame. They did so, in copious amounts of profanity and at high volume. Doors opened all along the affected corridor, spilling annoyed Decepticons out. Above all the yelling, the high pitched revving of a terrified engine continued, underscored by Breakdown's whimpering and the awkward attempts of his gestalt-mates to calm him down.

Vortex chuckled, amused at the rapidly escalating conflict outside the Stunticons' shared quarters. Eventually, somebody would get around to asking Breakdown why he'd panicked, but for now?

It had been a good ending for a good day. Going to the brig for it later? Totally worth it.

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0 0 The Aft End (Shibara speaks) 0 0

This story started during an aimless chat with Bibliotecaria_D. It was all lolz and hypothetical what-ifs and I think right before starting writing it, it was just that, a couple of paragraphs of crackyness and maybe some porn, if I'm not much mistaken.

Then it exploded into plot of some kind. We started thinking what would happen in a more logical light (as much as bubblewrap allows anyway) and stuff went from a self-indulgent, nonsensical, tiny ficlet to a self-indulgent giant monster of a character-driven fic.

It's scary how much thought I have put on a story which involves bubblewrap as a key item, but I figure that more than that, it's about behaviour. And that's a sweet topic, imho.

Anyways, stuff happened. I wrote the first draft, Bibliotecaria_D wrote the awesome fleshing out and prettifying that makes this a fic instead of babbling, and we plotted horrible things for the characters together because there's nothing like being bad people at Decepticon helicopters.

Oh, and now it doesn't have porn anymore. I think.