Damage
A/N: WTF did I just write? I don't even know XD After reading the awesome story "Black Widow" by Mistress Megatron, this crack pairing popped into my head and simply wouldn't leave until I did something about it. Enjoy!
This will be a two-shot. Megatron x Knock Out
Warning: If you do not like slash, turn back now. Also, at the beginning there is a very short scene of gore. Later on, scenes of combat violence. We are talking about a tyrant and sadistic doctor, after all. After this chapter…'other stuff' will happen. Rated M for a reason, dudes.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro.
You don't know anything about me
Once it starts, it never stops
Discipline, it's all I'm not
Can't help myself; you listening?
Why can't I say just what I want?
Steady damage; cross the line
What's become clearly defined?
All that is done is left behind
-Fit for Rivals, "Damage"
Damage (I)
Red—all the medic could see was red. The buzz saw scissored through the human parasite's flesh like paper. Ah, so that is what they look like on the inside.
"Wait… what are you doing? You're making a mistake! Get that blasted thing away from me—I can help you! I can—gh—AHHHH! No…NO, NO, NO!"
Any pleading protest Silas had left to say died in the back of his throat with the last of his screams as Knock Out carefully carved him open. He would keep him alive, for now—but just barely. Writhing and thrashing helplessly, voice cracking into higher and higher screeches of absolute agony as the blade sank deeper, this skin-job truly was a pathetic creature.
"Please…! Is this…is this what your blasted friend Breakdown would have wanted? IS IT?! AGGGGH-!"
An accidental slip of the blade severed the flesh-bag's vocal cords entirely. Red spattered the entire front of Knock Out's chassis, drenching him in crimson under the dim violet light of the med bay. Oops. So much for keeping him alive…
The medic stood still for a few moments, frozen in that frame of time as he surveyed the damage. As he glanced at the mess on the medical berth, he cycled air out tiredly. He should have been itching to continue, to separate the human's body layer by layer until nothing remained. Breakdown would have wanted this. Nevertheless, the only thing weighing down his processor was loss, anchoring him painfully to the present.
Everyone always spoke of loss like a disease—something that, with enough time and proper medicine, could be cured. Diseases either killed you or made you stronger; they were finite, regardless of the fact they lasted days or years, cycles or vorns. Loss was not a disease—it did not even come close to fitting the description. Like a parasite or disability, it stuck with its victim for as long as that individual breathed, slowly eating away at the poor fool until nothing remained. There was no medicine. There was no quick recovery.
One could only learn to cope with it and press on, or suffer in silence.
Perhaps it was the silence that had driven him mad. Breakdown always had some lame joke or new story to share during a shift. Even if the mech wasted half a cycle lecturing him for sneaking out to race or for slipping a bit of high-grade from Megatron's personal stash, he always had something to say to Knock Out. He was always there. Losing Breakdown felt as strange to the medic as losing his own shadow.
And Primus, did he miss him. He missed him to the point he physically ached.
At first, he thought he could handle it—but in the end it only ended up damaging his sanity. It had drained out every fiber of energy and life from his body, leaving him painfully empty. He was a social mech, dripping in charisma and presence. He needed interaction. He needed his best friend. For the first time in many vorns, he had experienced what it felt to truly be alone.
Primus…I need to concentrate. I need to forget.
He had no duties to tend to tonight, and no one to talk to. Everything was quiet—too quiet. A few breems sitting in the med bay slowly turned into a few joors, to the point he lost track of time. When he could no longer bear it, he begrudgingly reached into his stash of high-grade.
Knock Out rarely overindulged himself; sure, he enjoyed drinking for a good time, but only on celebratory occasions or among friends. He detested the thought of stumbling around like an incompetent fool, rambling nonsense and making a show out of himself. He despised the thought of waking up in another mech's berth with a throbbing processor and no memory of the cycle before. Only distasteful mechs drowned their sorrows in high grade, and he found it beneath him.
Without knowing what came over him, he downed the first cube. It just wouldn't do—the silence still rang loudly in his audios, encompassing him from all sides. Two more cubes joined the first. Better—but Breakdown still haunted his aching processor. He just wanted to forget, if only for a little while. However, before he could hit his fourth, a small noise cut through the silence—the doors to the med bay hissing open.
A large shape stepped through, emerging into the dimly lit area of the sector. Cold violet light played off of the sharp silver angles of the Decepticon leader's armor as he crossed the distance to where Knock Out sat, slumped over his own desk. A steady crimson gaze passed over the mess of spattered human gore on the table, before settling on the medic, surprised to find him there and not in recharge at this hour.
"Knock Out," Megatron rumbled after a few moments of silence, "I can see the dissection went…well."
"Well enough, m'liege…" the doctor slurred, vision swimming and blurring as he tried to focus on the form of his leader.
"Yet it goes unfinished," the warlord added, glancing toward the empty cubes of high-grade. "Celebrating so soon?"
"You could say that…"
"You're overcharged."
"More like…what's the word for it…? Oh yea…buzzed. Get it? Like, Bumblebee—bzzzzzz…"
The gladiator raised one optic ridge slowly at the medic's odd behavior, before glancing at the examination table once more. "I find it strange you stopped so soon in your dissection. What was it you said before about leaving no fiber-optic unexamined? Yet I see this flesh-ling still has both of his… Did his biology prove that disgusting even a medic of your standards could not continue?"
"I'm just…on break," Knock Out mumbled evasively, red optics focusing on the far wall.
"The subjects I handed you in back in Iacon had you locked in your lab for cycles on end, at minimum," the warlord remarked.
"Perhaps the vorns have taken a toll on me after all…"
"Yet some are truly incapable of change," Megatron commented, pacing around the examination table.
"What are you getting at, Lord Megatron?" the medic slurred, glaring up at his leader—a move he wouldn't dare make when sober. "Do you really feel such a need to analyze me at this hour?"
"Your confidence is overstepping its bounds, doctor," the Decepticon leader rasped, shoulder spikes rising dangerously as he paced back toward the CMO. "I gave you an order—albeit one I thought you would enjoy—to examine this flesh-ling, and determine the means by which he was able to connect himself to a Cybertronian body. And here you are, drunk on the job. So tell me, why is it you cannot comply with such a simple task?"
Just like that, Knock Out's defensiveness deflated. He glanced back toward the pile of Breakdown's disregarded, ravaged armor, before looking back sadly at his leader. "I think you would find it obvious..."
"Dissection alone is not resolution enough for our fallen comrade," Megatron rumbled. The CMO nodded once in agreement—so slight of a gesture it was nearly imperceptible.
"Overcharging yourself and neglecting your duties will fail to accomplish any form of reconciliation either."
"So what do you recommend, my liege? That I suppress it and move on? Become a hardened warrior such as yourself?"
"It does seem favorable to acting like a lovesick, brokenhearted femme, don't you think, doctor?"
"Breakdown was like my brother," Knock Out spat bitterly. "To assume we were anything more intimate is a perversion."
"Ah. Given the nature of your bond, I could only assume the two of you were…close," Megatron replied.
Knock Out shifted, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the still-full cube of high-grade. Awkward tension hung in the air between the two, as thick and dense as a toxic cloud of teargas. This is certainly not how he pictured spending his evening, discussing the subject of his feelings with the most brutal tyrant in the known universe. Megatron rarely said two words to him, when he wasn't chastising the red mech on his mistakes or careless, flamboyant behavior. He raised the fourth cube to his lip-plates, downing the bitter mixture with haste. Down the hatch…
As he reached for a fifth, Megatron lashed out, grabbing the medic's wrist with cold digits. The red mech's optics widened, staring at his leader questioningly. "Stop," the warlord said flatly. "You've had more than enough. If you still feel the need to grieve, at least expel it into something productive."
"Like what, my liege?"
Megatron released his wrist, standing back to peer down at the CMO. "Train with me. You will be surprised what it can do for your processor."
"I never pegged you for a psychiatrist, Lord Megatron…" the doctor said, smirking a little despite himself.
"How do you think I managed to stay leader of the Decepticons for so many eons?" The tyrant grinned hard at him through sharp teeth, optics flashing. "Part of it was learning how to properly expel rage and resentment. In order to run an army, one must learn to properly express their feelings. Otherwise the pressure would have driven me mad many vorns ago…"
It seems you're more than halfway there, the medic thought, but kept that to himself. Even though he felt far too drained to train, he knew this was not a request. Despite his exhaustion, he relented. Aloud, he responded with a small smirk and smooth bow, "After you."
Joints straining, energon pumping rapidly through his lines, Knock Out twisted quickly out of the line of strike as Megatron aimed a powerful blow to his helm. The medic quickly countered with a spinning crescent kick to the back of the silver mech's head. The tyrant managed to duck in time, grabbing his ankle and hurling him into the wall, but the CMO could not recall a time he had even come close to performing such a move in battle.
Perhaps it was just the warm hum of high-grade in his system fueling his confidence, but even as the blows rained down on his frame, he jumped back up onto his pedes time and time again to throw everything he had into battle. Dents and scratches battered his paint job; and as much as it disgusted him, as much as he itched to buff and polish and preen, the pain awakened something within the medic.
He craved it, this savage ruthlessness. It always surfaced when he dissected a subject, but to call upon it in such a casual setting—it both frightened and excited him.
Perhaps it was the way Megatron struck, shifting and launching his massive frame into complex maneuvers with such ease. Perhaps it was the thrill of evasion and counter-attack—Knock Out had no idea what to expect next with every twist and turn of their 'game', in comparison to the highly predictable moves of an Autobot opponent. Perhaps it was the thrill of combating the sheer power of his leader, the invincibility of this war-hardened gladiator.
Whatever it was, it set fire to his energon lines, and he wanted more.
They continued for what felt like hours, hacking away at one another until beams of sunlight filtered through the ship's small windows into the training area. Panting heavily, Knock Out staggered against the wall, his overheated systems thrumming from exertion. The pains of high-grade hangover throbbed in his aching processor, and every inch of his frame demanded recharge. Energon dripped in a steady stream from his lip plating and places of his armor gushed sparks. Warning signs flashed in his vision, signaling that he needed repairs.
Primus, he needed a good buffing before his shift! What had he gotten himself into?
"Something the matter, doctor?"
The tyrant's voice ripped the medic out of his thoughts. Tearing his gaze away from his own chassis, Knock Out turned to face his leader. "Processor ache, Sir," he answered, wiping the stray energon from his lower lip-plate.
"Perhaps it would serve you well to think before overcharging yourself again so quickly, next time," Megatron rumbled, his red gaze a dim glow in the near-darkness.
"Although it puts my chassis is in dreadful condition…I am beginning to see why you spend so much time in here," the doctor replied quietly.
"A chassis was made for more than decorative detailing," Megatron remarked, a dangerous glint to his optics as he stepped closer to the red mech. "Much, much more. We are beings of power, doctor. It is best that you keep that knowledge at the forefront of your processor…"
As he took a step forward, Knock Out automatically shifted back, dread coiling within his circuitry. The bloodlust and madness in his leader's gaze unnerved him greatly. Within moments he found himself pressed against the adjacent wall. "Y-Yes, Lord Megatron."
They remained like that for what felt like eons, the silence ringing loudly around them. Hot air ventilated from the gladiator passed over the medic's red chassis, uncomfortably warm against the plating. Megatron's energy field brushed and buzzed against his own, pulsing with contained energy. A thousand words passed between them in the silence, though what exactly happened in that moment, Knock Out could not properly identify. Even as the Decepticon leader backed away, turned and disappeared through the doors of the training sector, the medic's spark continued to pound.
Only one thing was certain: something odd had sparked between them, though the doctor would not dare give it a name.
A/N: Review please! Second part coming soon!
-KM
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