Title: Rent to Own

Warning: Decepticons being Decepticons, power dynamics from their perspectives (no, this is not healthy), D/s, and references to petplay.

Rating: PG-13

Continuity: G1, set within Lease or Buy (it'll make more sense to read it first)

Characters: Constructicons

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors.

Motivation (Prompt): Commission for Surefall; "the Constructicon drama that's going on behind the scenes in Lease of Buy."

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Part Two

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It'd been a long, long time since Mixmaster felt this way.

Contentment thrummed along the gestalt bond. Happiness, too, fragile and tentative. He was doing something he enjoyed but rarely got to do, and he didn't quite trust the results he was getting. Anytime he shared his mixes looking for feedback, the feedback he got tended toward brutal honesty. That wasn't bad, but honesty among Decepticons shaded into backhanded compliments if anything positive was ever even mentioned. A particularly good blend might be rated as 'acceptable.' Anything above that would show approval, and exposing a positive opinion asked for someone to turn it into a weapon.

"Can't remember the last time I said I liked something he made," Bonecrusher said aloud. He leaned against the wall next to the lab's closed door, too absorbed in what he was getting from the bond to keep working. Mixmaster's spark was beginning to spin, happy and buoyant. "He needed this. Something without, what're they called. Qualifications."

"Mmhm."

He hadn't listened too closely to Mixmaster planning the details, but a pet couldn't give an opinion in terms of 'It's good, but.' It was either good or bad. The way Swindle talked with his hands normally, taking away words probably wouldn't matter. Bonecrusher couldn't imagine it was difficult telling what he liked or disliked.

This had just been the test run, but there wasn't a chance in the Pit that Mixmaster wouldn't be buying Swindle's time again. Bonecrusher would back up his demand to Scrapper, if it came to that, but he doubted that it would. Mixmaster had been a ball waiting to explode, and it had seemed normal until the ball diffused. Now they could see it. The stress pinching their sparks from his end of the gestalt bond and the constant itching strain from the gestalt links had diffused. Scrapper wouldn't allow it to build up that way again.

A thrill of pleased gratitude flushed through the gestalt bond. Bonecrusher blinked and squashed the smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Right. He's a keeper."

"Mmhm."

Mixmaster had his manic and depressive phases. The Constructicons all knew that. They lived with it. Adjusting to the flux through the bond meant that they'd learned to tune it out to a certain extent, the same way they did Scavenger's surges of self-consciousness. It was background noise. Bonecrusher hadn't thought anything of Mixmaster's mounting frustration.

He should have, it seemed. The session had Mixmaster melting, long-tensed gears relaxed at last. It was soothing the chemist back to neutral, and that eased down the bond to touch the rest of them. Tension Bonecrusher hadn't even known about released. It felt great.

There was no reason not to purchase Swindle again since he made Mixmaster this happy. Simple pleasure stirred through the bond, Mixmaster's spark reaching out to share his good mood, and that lifted everyone's spirits. Interest hummed from Long Haul and Scavenger as the crimp in the gestalt bond smoothed out. Bonecrusher hummed back, enjoying the synchronization of their sparks with his.

A watchful, thoughtful warmth stroked through the whole unit, tingling in their gestalt links as if Scrapper were doing a readiness test. Whatever he was testing, it came back positive. Approval bubbled through them. This was a job well done.

Yeah, they'd be buying Mixmaster pet sessions from now on.

Happiness burbled through the bond, the equivalent of giddy giggles. Bonecrusher rolled his helm back against the wall and let his amusement at the giggling flow toward Mixmaster in return. Embarrassment nipped back, and he laughed. The fondness under his laughter couldn't be hidden. It soothed the grumbling, and Mixmaster went back to what he was doing.

The demolitionist's face refused to stop smiling. "This worked out better than I thought."

"Mmhm." That was a sound that said the person making it wanted nothing to do with the information being reported to him. An annoyed look accompanied it. Mixmaster's contentment reflected off the rest of them, good vibes added to secondhand pleasure, but it failed to put a dent in Hook's bad mood. Even if the surgeon could feel Mixmaster directly, Bonecrusher suspected Hook would still scowl.

Hook didn't want to be here, he didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to feel anything. He'd stopped arguing against Mixmaster hiring Swindle, but the passive resistance had picked up. Little sniping comments, bitter glaring, and Hook's poisonous attitude anytime it came up gave away how much he hated the team bringing in someone.

He wasn't complaining now, but he scowled at the tools he was scrubbing clean. That didn't fool Bonecrusher. Stiff and distant as he acted, nobody outside the gestalt knew how far into disgrace Hook had fallen in the optics of the team. He was here only to curry Mixmaster's favor. He didn't like it, but he did it.

Swindle only had so much free time, and they'd had to change the repairbay schedule around to accommodate the session. Someone had to replace Mixmaster on-shift today. Hook hadn't protested Scrapper changing the schedule, which was as close to volunteering as he'd ever get. It was quite a concession from Hook. He didn't do stuff like that, or he complained if he had to. The viciousness amped up if he was doing it because he felt like he had to.

It was toned down to hissing, passive-aggressive fury right now. Openly lashing out against Mixmaster or Swindle would bring Scrapper down on him, and more importantly, Hook couldn't risk angering Mixmaster more than he already had. He wanted the chemist's forgiveness. He needed it. Scrapper had allowed him back into the gestalt bond after a full day separated out, but Mixmaster refused to unblock his end of the spark bond. He stared right through Hook anytime they were away from outsiders.

Being ignored drove the surgeon up the wall. It implied that Mixmaster considered him unimportant. Nonessential. Replaceable by a Combaticon, perhaps.

That was the message Hook got from a teammate refusing to acknowledge him, anyway. Mixmaster had turned his time and attention on an outsider. He preferred an outsider to him.

The surgeon clung to the rest of the Constructicons as a result. They let him, but they didn't make it easy for him. He was well aware that most of them nursed some anger toward him for his recent (and not-so-recent) behavior, but he stuck to them like a burr despite and because of that. He hated, absolutely hated, to feel that they could get along without him. He had to be included or central to everything the team did, or he felt abandoned.

The reversal of expectations inside the gestalt bond was strange, sometimes. Bonecrusher could see it. He had the peculiar ability to do that, to see the weaknesses in how things fit together. He knew where the imperfections were. Destruction of a few key points could level an entire structure, and he could find those points every time.

He could see the situation like a building, and analysis was simple in that context.

Hook was the weak point.

Fear made him brittle. The confidence, the arrogance, was always there, but it covered a minefield of fears. He could do practically anything surgical and knew it, versus Scavenger's worries that his collection skills weren't good enough. Scavenger tried harder; Hook sat proudly at the top and demanded accolades.

The difference was in what lay underneath their surface personalities. Whereas Scavenger's many insecurities hid titanium-strength assurance that he belonged on the team, Hook's confidence hid a bottomless pit of insecurities about the same. Scavenger responded to disapproval from people by getting depressed and mopey, but he never doubted he belonged on the team. Hook responded to disapproval by insisting he was above anyone else's opinion, but apprehension dug the confidence out from underneath him all the while. He was a paradox of behavior: pushing them away by saying he didn't need them, but afraid they'd let him push them away.

He wanted to think he was irreplaceable, but show him how the team functioned without him, and he caved in an instant. His wounded ego would puff up to cover the lapse a minute later.

Bonecrusher could see the process. He could distance himself, stepping back to study the Constructicons as if they were a flawed blueprint that had been allowed to progress to building. A rise to conflict, unrest, and then deflation followed by aggressive re-inflation, trying to cover the puncture wound by pretending it didn't exist and had never happened. Afterward, the slow rise to conflict would begin again.

Hook's pride would allow no less. Everything had to be about him, only and ever him.

The mech had suffered a full day of watching how the Constructicons could and did function without him. He'd shadowed Scrapper the whole day, impassive on the outside, but his spark had begged their pardon through the gestalt bond. He'd hammered on the blocked bond, frantic to be allowed back in. When he eventually was, he'd rushed to burrow his spark into the center of the bond. He'd spent the evening in a chair in the middle of the group, shoulders squeezed between Long Haul and Scavenger, leaning against them both as his spark soaked in their returned presence through the bond.

Being replaced was his personal terror. Being useless was his nightmare. Scrapper had used that fear to punish him, and it'd been an effective punishment indeed.

The past two weeks, orders were accepted without question. Hook dropped everything to cater to their wishes. Coming up with small things to make up for what he'd said and done became his new hobby. He was a member of the team, not above them. He belonged among them. He was sorry and wanted to show that he'd learned his lesson.

But the lesson hadn't stuck. The tightness around his mouth and the way he'd glowered when Swindle followed Mixmaster back into the private room told Bonecrusher that Hook had come to the end of his patience. Two weeks of silence from Mixmaster's end of the bond should have sown repentance, but Hook's conciliatory gestures had acquired a resentful, bitter edge instead. That told the rest of the Constructicons how well that was going. The spring of remorse had run dry.

Bonecrusher studied him from across the room. "He's having fun."

The surgeon's lips pressed into a thin line.

"This is what he wanted. This is what you didn't give him."

"I am aware of that, yes, thank you, Bonecrusher." Acid dripped off Hook's words. His tone could etch stone.

Through the demolitionist's visor, that was a giant blaring sign of a weak point. He could see it. Detached, almost dispassionate about it, Bonecrusher withdrew from the gestalt bond in order to see the situation from the outside. Hook glanced up, alerted by the distance between their sparks, but Bonecrusher didn't respond to his questioning look.

He was more interested in judging how close to another conflict the Constructicons were getting. What he saw was a six-piece puzzle, six different people joined into one gestalt. Their links were compatible, but the gestalt bond itself was out of balance. Two of the pieces were at odds with each other, and their strength was distributed badly as a result. It would make combining into Devastator a very bad idea.

Something had to be done. Megatron would hand them their helms if Devastator got any dumber on the battlefield.

Scrapper had done his part by bringing Hook back to heel, but Mixmaster was being stubborn. Internal conflict was coming to a head. Maybe they should blame the chemist, but none of the other Constructicons could. This fight had been a long time coming. They couldn't resent him taking a stand.

Besides, buying Swindle's time would soothe him back to normal soon enough.

Mixmaster wasn't the problem. It was Hook who would continue causing trouble. The gestalt balance was teetering on catty comments and insincerity. He had a habit of playing nice on the surface until everything fell out of sync below it.

Hook was the weakness. His overweening pride and refusal to accept his place in the team rasped on everyone's patience, and there would be another snap soon. Then another, over and over again, like always. It was the Constructicons' repeating pattern, a turbulent cycle that kept circling around to start again.

It was time to break it. Hook's ego was getting in the way of productivity, teamwork, and Mixmaster's happy time, as it were. Scrapper controlled the surgeon just enough to keep the Constructicons in Megatron's favor, but Hook was pushing even that. There wasn't room for internal conflict here on Earth, trapped in a ship with the Decepticon Elite and Megatron himself.

Bonecrusher could see the solution. It'd be brutal, but most of his solutions were. Temporary fixes had sufficed until now, shoring up the weak spot without fixing it. Now, however. Now was the time to go in and change things, get rid of the imperfection, and stop using little fixes that didn't eliminate the problem. Destruction had to come before rebuilding could be done. Clear the buildsite and fix the blueprint so the new structure fit together better.

The weak point had to be destroyed before the situation got any worse. Only then could the Constructicons become stronger.

"Stop staring at me," Hook commanded, but unease ran under his words. Across the repairbay, Bonecrusher blinked his visor back into focus, and the surgeon averted his gaze to his work as the blank stare seemed to peer into his spark.

The stare became a significant look. Signifying what, Hook didn't know, but Bonecrusher had reached a decision. That command had made up his mind.

The other Constructicons had been supervising their egomaniac closely since his disciplining two weeks ago. He hadn't been left alone on or off shift. Snapping a command at his teammate like that should have earned him a scolding at the very least, more likely a smack upside the head from this particular mech. Bonecrusher knew that Hook knew that. It was a symptom of the greater problem that Hook knew better but had still said it.

The surgeon braced himself when Bonecrusher pushed off the wall, but nothing happened. The heavier Constructicon strode past him, out of the repairbay. Hook's wide visor staring after him was the last thing visible before the door closed. Unease and a trickle of fear chased Bonecrusher through the gestalt bond, Hook's spark reaching out in an instinctive attempt to appease. He didn't know what precisely he'd done wrong this time, but he knew that Bonecrusher was stonewalling him.

Shutting him out was reason enough to start apologizing, at this point. Two of his five teammates were blocking his spark. Ominous silence and isolation loomed. Being kicked out of the gestalt started to become a concrete fear. A wordless question pinged through the gestalt's comm. frequency as Hook gave in to worry.

Long Haul, Scavenger, and Scrapper pinged him back. Mixmaster and Bonecrusher's receptors remained blocked. The pings bounced.

Bonecrusher could feel Hook pressing against the other side of the gestalt bond, alarmed by the lack of response. He'd just have to deal with it for a while. Bonecrusher had things to do.

Scrapper touched his spark, concerned by Hook's mounting worry, but the gestalt bond ticked with the thoughtfulness of a demolitionist given a project. Scrapper tasted that determination, read his thoughtfulness, and approved.

Good. If Bonecrusher was going to do this, he needed authorization from up the chain. He had Scrapper's blessing, but this wasn't a project that could be handled by explosives and digging. This was a problem of spark and mind, and there was only one mech in the Constructicons who could properly bring Hook down. He had to bring in the specialist.

Six hours later, the door to the Constructicons' quarters opened to two mechs sitting at the table. They hadn't been doing anything. They weren't even talking. They were just there, waiting. The look they turned on the door was a near-physical force.

It was felt. Hook's posture didn't change as he stepped inside, but he hesitated a fraction of a second before clearing the door. It closed behind him with a sense of finality. He wouldn't be leaving these rooms until these two let him.

Something he was excruciatingly aware of. They'd set this up, talking through the gestalt comm. frequency to arrange for the others to spend the shift elsewhere, and he'd known what was coming. They hadn't kept him from overhearing. He didn't know what they were up to, but he knew it involved him. Considering Bonecrusher's strange behavior earlier, he knew to be wary of that. He'd dithered as long as he could in the repairbay to avoid walking into this trap.

He couldn't stay away forever, so here he was. He'd even made an effort toward cooperating with their plans: the two energon cubes he held weren't for himself. Visor down, he walked to the table to set them down in front of his teammates and stand back, arms falling slowly back to his sides. Look. He was being a good subordinate. He knew his place.

They weren't fooled. A chair rattled as Bonecrusher kicked it out from the table. The order was implied, but this time the surgeon listened to it. He sat down.

Bonecrusher didn't move. Lounged back in his chair, arms folded, he just watched Hook. Hook avoided his gaze by deliberately, carefully arranging his hands on the table. Shoulders squared and chin proudly held up, he looked a consummate professional ready to engage in a discussion between equals. He just couldn't seem to raise his visor.

With a sigh, Scavenger scooted his chair over. His testy teammate stiffened further, but he began to pet Hook's arm, playing with the tires. The surgeon shifted in his seat but didn't protest the fiddly little movements. That was practically a plea for more contact from Hook. Scavenger leaned in to nestle up against his side, and Hook's systems started syncing up with the low buzz of internal functions that could be felt through where their armor pressed together.

Wary as he was, Hook couldn't resist the call of the gestalt links. Reaching for casual, he inched closer. Neither Bonecrusher nor Scavenger were deceived, but that was okay. Scavenger welcomed his closeness and continued spinning the surgeon's tires.

Patient but prodding, he asked, "You gonna tell us what's bothering you?"

'Us,' implying that Bonecrusher was listening despite the cold block on the gestalt bond. An apprehensive look flicked toward the impassive demolitionist. Bonecrusher rarely looked happy, but the neutral expression he wore at the moment judged his teammate where he sat.

Hook's voice, when he spoke, was a quiet thing clotted with unnamed emotions. "I apologized to Mixmaster." The skeptical rev of an engine from across the table made him flinch.

Scavenger shot Bonecrusher a repressive look. Discouraging good behavior wouldn't help anything. "Good. That's good. You did good, Hook," the salvager praised, turning his attention back to Hook. More petting was needed, he could tell. "What'd he say?"

The increased petting turned the tires, spinning them under Scavenger's fingers. Hook shifted his arm away but froze at a mild, disapproving cluck. No, that wasn't what Scavenger wanted. Tsk-tsk. Stop that.

His arm eased back to where it'd been, and Scavenger hummed approval as he resumed petting the surgeon. Good, very good. Well done.

Hook's visor flicked from the table to Scavenger and back again. The table was probably the safest thing to be looking at. "He…didn't say anything. He still won't talk to me." The tip of his tongue flicked into sight to wet his bottom lip.

Bonecrusher stayed absolutely still. This was the turning point. Would Hook ask on his own, or would they have to intervene to rub the surgeon's face in his mess?

Another clucking noise came from Scavenger. It was a sound that could stop the Constructicons in their tracks and make them feel guilty for existing. It implied scolding without the fearsome pile of power Scrapper's disapproval brought to bear. Scrapper was the authority, the powerhouse, the strict enforcer of the rules within the team. Scavenger didn't have the sheer power of spark that Scrapper did, but he was strong, far stronger than the other four Constructicons. He lacked the blunt force of personality to use it as Scrapper did, but then again, he didn't have to. The leverage he had meant he could move them how he wanted without needing to dominate them.

Nobody outside the team thought of him as a controlling mech. He was the insecure one, the one who required comforting more often than not. It was the times someone else required comforting in turn that it became clear that his weakness hid his strength. Scrapper used him for supplies acquisitions and social-driven negotiations outside of the team for very good reason. Scavenger was probably the most misunderstood of the Constructicons, and they used that in dealing with outsiders.

He had painfully low self-esteem. The team validated him, supported him, and so he needed to please them first and foremost in order to fulfill his own needs. That made him innocently, deceptively ruthless when dealing with people outside of it. He wanted to please everyone, but only as far as it benefited the Constructicons. Other Decepticons picked up on the fact that his opinion of himself was built off of whether or not people liked him, but it was fueled by an incredible selfishness. People saw how eager to please he was. What they didn't see was how little they mattered to him.

He didn't actually care about other people; he cared about what they thought about him.

Scrapper made the Constructicons a functioning combiner team, regardless of what they thought or felt about it. By contrast, Scavenger was intimately aware of what they all felt, and he wanted them to get along...because a united team supported him. Having a close, working team served his own neediness. Scrapper gave orders, and the Constructicons obeyed because he was in charge. Scavenger coaxed, whined, and pleaded until everyone agreed to do what he wanted, and they'd do it because they liked him.

Not liking him hurt his feelings. Hurting his feelings was a bad idea. It reflected through the gestalt bond and made the Constructicon who'd rejected him feel equally miserable until - predictably, as planned, although Scavenger would never, ever phrase it that way and would be hurt if any of them said it - the sucker did as he wanted.

It was manipulative as the Pit. Scavenger was the worst kind of manipulator: the kind who did it out of pure, sincere belief that it was for the greater good. He didn't have a cold diode in his whole body when it came to understanding, sympathizing, and twisting the Constructicons to his desires. He genuinely believed he was doing the right thing. He was the warm, cuddly force of the gestalt bond.

Hook didn't stand a chance.

Mercilessly kind, Scavenger cozied up to his side and pet his tires, clucking disappointment. Bonecrusher couldn't see a difference, but he'd bet his plastic explosives stash that the surgeon's spark was cringing in his chest at the sadness radiating from Scavenger's end of the gestalt bond. Scrapper used power and pressure to make the Constructicons do what he wanted; Scavenger groomed their emotional vulnerabilities into ultra-sensitive buttons for him to push at will.

And push them he did. The intense disappointment focused on Hook had the mech mutely nudging Scavenger's ration toward him like all he could think to do was feed the salvager. Helplessness blushed his visor orangey-red, and Bonecrusher could almost feel the pressure mounting. It was pressure Hook put on himself. The surgeon had failed his teammate's expectations, and Scavenger was bending that disappointment back on him. Shame, shame. Bad teammate.

Bonecrusher wasn't the most patient Decepticon, but Scavenger speared him with a chiding look when he shifted. Wait. Hook would crack on his own. Hurrying him along would make him resent their intervention instead of accepting their guidance.

It took a while, but yep. Pride couldn't hold up under the added stress of Scavenger being sad at him.

Hook's ego cracked and spilled a confession out onto the table. "I don't know what else I can do." Anger bled through his voice. He hated, utterly hated admitting he couldn't do something. "He won't talk to me. He won't look at me. He's - he brought that rusted Combaticon in, and yes, I'm aware he did so because I," his voice faltered, "didn't give him what he wanted. He has what he wants now. Why won't he forgive me?"

Scavenger and Bonecrusher looked at each other, sharing a silent sigh between them. Of course Hook would frame it as Mixmaster being in the wrong instead of looking at his own actions for the source of the problem.

"Do you want our advice?" Scavenger asked.

Ooo, that hurt. Hook's shoulders twitched inward. He had a little pride left, and it didn't go down easily. Scavenger patiently played with his tires, letting him fight it out inside. There was really only one answer to the question, what with how they'd set up this intervention. It was up to him to accept the inevitable, however.

Finally, the surgeon drew himself up and rolled his shoulders back, bracing for the pain. "Yes."

Bonecrusher reset his vocalizer pointedly when Scavenger seemed ready to accept that. His teammates blinked at him, but Hook deflated a tiny bit.

"Yes, please," he restated, visor sliding away from Bonecrusher's.

Scavenger cocked his head, and Bonecrusher nodded. That was better.

"Alright, then."

The two Constructicons exchanged nods, and Bonecrusher got up. Metal clinked and scraped as the demolitionist set about rearranging the furniture. The table moved aside. The chairs were dragged together into a tight group. While he worked, Scavenger fussed over Hook. The surgeon muttered cranky complaints, but when they sat down again, they sat how Scavenger wanted them: Hook's chair in front of Bonecrusher's, facing Scavenger. The surgeon's back was to the stronger mech, and his knees were between Scavenger's.

Normal Decepticons would have been snickering over how close they sat to each other, but the Constructicons were naturally more tactile than the rest of the faction. This position was more intimate than usual, but really, when a mech's hand was inside someone's chest, what did it matter where his knees were?

Bonecrusher wasn't gentle about pulling Hook's wrists back behind the chair, but he wasn't cruel about it. Restraint didn't have to be uncomfortable. With the gestalt bond between their sparks blocked off like this, it was a reassurance Hook seized on. Sensor-dense hands turned to grope for him, and the demolitionist allowed it. A firm grip on Hook's wrists let the mech hold onto him, too. That crossed Hook's arms behind the chair, keeping him down and in place, but it was a weird form of comfort for the surgeon.

Bonecrusher was here. He wasn't going anywhere. Restraint and steady presence, he held Hook's arms back out the way, and Hook held his hands in return because he wanted this. He couldn't say it out loud, but he did. Bonecrusher squeezed his wrists and watched Scavenger over his shoulder.

Because while he'd been restraining Hook, Scavenger had been opening him up. The crane's front grill unlatched to open downward, exposing internal systems that grudgingly shifted aside under some poking. Bonecrusher could tell when Hook's radiator was out of the way. Sparklight painted Scavenger's mask blue-white and green, his optics bright red contrast to the stark shadows.

Hook's shoulders jolted at the first contact. His head rolled forward, visor narrowing at the hands in his chest. Scavenger leaned in further, happy optics blinking up at the surgeon before focusing on coaxing his spark chamber open. The mechanisms were well maintained, but they weren't meant to be used casually. Hook had to consciously unlock the catches for the hands petting them. The way Scavenger kept stroking him, the salvager looked like he'd wait forever. Hook cycled his ventilation system and concentrated on his teammate.

Scavenger pet Hook's spark chamber the way he had the mech's tires. The back of his fingers stroked around the front crystal. Hello. Hello, there. It'd been a while. Everything was okay. He would take care of everything. Shh, shh. Calm down.

Patience soothed the skittish locking protocols. He bent down to look right into Hook's chest, engine purring a reassuring cadence. Serene and tender, he worked his fingers into the open latch and applied just enough force to be helpful. The tugs encouraged instead of pulled.

The spark chamber opened to him.

Scavenger gave a high-pitched little squeal of delight, bunching down to greet it. He cupped careful hands around it, gentle on the bare plasma. It flared in response. Bonecrusher rested his chin on Hook's shoulder to watch how the bright ball of light reflected in Scavenger's visor.

"There you are," Scavenger cooed. The reflection glittered brilliantly. Petting turned to a kind of massage, fingers working into the outer corona. "I've missed you."

"Don't talk to me that way," Hook said through gritted teeth. His visor dimmed to a bloody burgundy, and he didn't seem aware of how hard he was pressing the side of his helm into Bonecrusher's. The demolitionist clonked their helms together reprovingly, and Hook reset his vocalizer before restating himself. "I wish you wouldn't talk to me that way."

"Like what?" Scavenger looked up at the surgeon, confused. "I'm just talking to you."

"I…yes, I suppose you are. You just - you do that thing with your voice. It's annoying." Joints creaked as Bonecrusher tightened his hold. He wouldn't let Hook pull his arms loose to fold across his chest. Defensive body language was pointless. Hook wanted to retreat into dismissive huffs and silence, but Scavenger had him peeled open in surrender.

"What thing? This?" The salvager let his voice squeak high and silly, and he turned it on the spark in his hands. "But I hardly ever get to do this! It's not fair. I love to see you like this, Hook! You're so, hmm, so accessible!"

Hook shuddered once, all the way down his backstruts. "I don't want to be accessible!"

Scavenger's hands stopped dead. The gestalt bond rang like a struck gong, vibrating sudden severe hurt. "You…don't. You don't want me to - "

Exasperation and near-panic painted a muddled mix of emotions across Hook's face. "Primus! Will you stop that?" Bonecrusher muted a chuckle before it got out. The flustered surgeon would take offense at the laughter, but really, could he have caved any faster? The kicked cyberpuppy vibes from Scavenger were backed up by a wide visor full of crushed feelings. Hook twisted against Bonecrusher's hold, turning his face away to avoid looking at Scavenger's pathetic wibbling. "I didn't mean that I don't want you, of course - I - of course I didn't mean that. I simply meant that it's humiliating to be talked down to like some sort of," he squirmed, "of. Of." The words wouldn't come.

The words were there, but Hook never liked to say them out loud. "Subordinate?" Bonecrusher said for him. "Smaller, weaker guy we gotta stop everything for 'cause he's a finicky rustbucket?"

Unspoken was the idea of leaving him behind instead of stopping. It wasn't a Constructicon thought or idea, but it was a constant individual fear. Hook's fear.

As tight as Bonecrusher held him, the surgeon him tighter.

"Ohhhh, Hook." Sadness over rejection turned to hurt that Hook would believe him capable of that. "Hook, I'd never do that. I just want to help you. You know that right?" Scavenger bent to talk directly to the spark in his hands, voice squeaking. "You know I just want to help youuuuu. I'm here to help youuuu." His helm ducked out of sight, and Bonecrusher wouldn't be surprised in the least if he was rubbing the side of his face on Hook's spark like an affectionate felinoid. "You're angry. Mixmaster's angry. You're both hurt. I want to make you feel better, that's all. Is that so bad? I don't think that's bad."

Hook squirmed in the chair, embarrassment and the prickling feeling of fingers inside him making him wriggle. "Don't do that!" He sounded wretched, and it was fairly clear why. His dignity crashed and burned in a flaming wreck as Scavenger squealed. His spark responded to the attention, protest as he might, and Scavenger's joy flattened his reluctance.

The way it always did. Bonecrusher held the surgeon still and smirked like a glitch as Scavenger punched a hole smack through to the root of Hook. The surgeon's spark hungrily, happily responded to the close proximity of a friendly gestaltmate giving the poor, attention-starved thing some TLC. Hook's sputtered protests got the Sad Look of Doom, too, turning the squirming into a flinch because there wasn't a defense a Constructicon could put up against that Look.

"You want me to stop? But Hook…I'm only trying to help."

"I know you're trying to help. It's - Scavenger, stop. I know. It's - no, it's fine. Don't. Don't look at me like that. I know you're doing your best."

"I really am!"

"Yes, I…understand that."

"You want me to help you, right? We can do this. We're a team."

Ouch. Right in the weak spot.

Bonecrusher gave Scavenger an approving look, shoring him up against the confusion of Hook's reaction to that statement. The wrists in his hands twisted and turned, but he held tight.

Scavenger brightened visibly at the demolitionist's approval. He turned to the spark in front of him full of renewed determination. People lied; sparks told the truth. "What are you so angry about, Hook? You can tell me."

Metal scraped as Hook shifted. Silence bent around the edges the longer Scavenger crooned to his spark, petting and nuzzling it. It pulsed, reaching out to the salvager. It knew where it belonged, whom it belonged to, even if Hook's stubborn mind refused to be a team player. Bonecrusher shook his head and snorted air at the side of Hook's neck, and the surgeon jumped in his seat.

"Mixmaster. He's being a fool, refusing to talk to me. Of course I'm angry at him!" Halting words picked up as Hook's indignation spilled over. "I've apologized. I've apologized several times! Does he want to see me grovel? How is that okay but I'm not allowed to be angry about it? I've had enough of degrading myself for his edification. I don't deserve this. He's only - " He pulled himself up short, but too late to hide where his thoughts had gone.

It ran down the gestalt bond in a flurry of conviction: pride, superiority, and contempt.

A second later, the gestalt bond filled to bursting with wounded, sad, tsk-tsk-tsking disappointment. Long Haul and Mixmaster stopped whatever they were doing, alarm rocking them. Scrapper touched all their sparks, soothing but alert. Scavenger reached through the bond and clung to them, gathering them close into a support group, crying on their shoulders through their sparks. Bonecrusher's engine roared irritation, and his wasn't the only one.

As soon as they figured out who'd hurt him, the combined gaze of the team turned on the bewildered spark in their midst. Oh. Oh, he'd let Scavenger down so much.

Thoroughly scolded, Hook ducked his head. "You asked me why I was angry," he muttered, still stuck on defending himself. "I told you why. I didn't say anything you didn't ask for!" His shoulders hunched forward away from the bass growl of Bonecrusher's ire behind him.

"Hook…" Scavenger freed one hand despite how the spark glued itself to his fingers, unwilling to let go. He used it to pet a shoulder-tire. "You don't really think you're above us, do you? You don't really think you're more important than Mixmaster?" 'Than me?' his visor asked. That was what Hook had implied through the gestalt bond, after all, and Scavenger's feelings were hurt.

What was a Constructicon to do? Hook looked away. He pulled on his pinned arms. His feet shuffled on the floor between Scavenger's.

Meanwhile, Bonecrusher didn't have to have the bond unblocked to feel the agonized writhing of Hook's spark impaled on Scavenger's limpid stare. Scrapper would have forced through a hundred memories of how the surgeon's superiority complex had screwed the team over, or how often his ego had gotten him in over his head so the team had to pull him out. The outside perspective on Hook would have peeled that ego away and left the raw self exposed.

Such barriers were nothing to Scavenger. He was already inside them. He sat on Hook's conscience whimpering pitifully, self-esteem plummeting into a pit of doubt because Hook had implied he wasn't important, he was a nobody. Sadness and despair poured through the gestalt bond in a puddle of hurt that drilled into Hook's spark and made him feel every bit of his teammate's pain.

Hook couldn't take it.

The barriers fell, clawed down from within as he desperately tried to show that he was doing something, he could offer assurance that the thing that'd hurt Scavenger had gone away. "No! No, I'm…not." Bonecrusher could feel tension ball up in Hook's joints as he forced the words out around chunks of broken pride. "I'm not above any of you. I'm - I'm less. Stop that," he ordered, a shade away from pleading, "stop thinking that. You're not nothing. You're important to us. You're - you're important to me. You are. If anyone should feel that way, it's me. Mixmaster replaced me with Swindle, for frag's sake, so stop thinking you're the least of us. You're not. I am. I…am." His arms jerked again, this time from an attempt to reach out and comfort the mech almost in his lap.

Bonecrusher still didn't let him go. Time for words, not cheap gestures. Scavenger would feel better if Hook hugged him, but that would allow Hook to hide what he thought behind what he did again. They'd backslide into the sniping comments until things came to a head later.

Scavenger whined softly and huddled further into Hook's open chest. "That's not true. You're just saying that. You don't like me, not really. You think I'm not important. You think you're better than us!"

"You idiot," Hook said, but it was bluster covering a frantic need to fix this. "You know I don't mean that. I - yes, I might have said it in the heat of the moment, but I would never put myself above y-you. Any of you." The stumble gave away how thin Hook's veneer of control was at this point. Scavenger burrowed closer as the surgeon tipped up his own chin to try and tuck the mech in. "Don't ever think that about yourself. I don't know why I said that. I clearly wasn't thinking straight. If anyone should be saying such things, it's you. You're far more important to us than I am. I'm not even a buildmech. How much use is a surgical engineer in construction work? I can be a medic, but a half-decent architect would be of more use to the team. I could be replaced in the beat of a fuel pump. I should be. Megatron would have shot me for insolence vorns ago if not for you. You've kept me alive despite myself. You've done everything for me. I owe you so much. Don't think you're worthless. That's so stupid, I can't believe you'd think that! Idiot. You idiot. You're not worthless. You're more valuable than me."

Scavenger clucked little sad sounds to the spark he was still petting. "But you said…"

"I say a lot of things. I don't," he faltered, mouth snapping shut. Bonecrusher had to hold tight to keep him from pulling free. A few seconds of half-sparked struggling later, and Hook surrendered. "I say many things I don't mean later," he admitted quietly.

"They hurt us when you say them." Surgeon, Scavenger was disappoint. "And then you insist you're right all the time, so we don't know when you're just blowing off steam."

Bonecrusher edged forward enough to see Hook's face better. The mech looked stricken. "You think Mixmaster likes being angry at you?" he asked gruffly, and Hook stiffened. "You think he doesn't want to forgive you?"

After an awkward pause, the answer came in a shamed voice, "It honestly never occurred to me to wonder how he felt about it."

"Yeah. 'Cause you never think about stuff from our perspective."

Scavenger shook his head and sighed, letting that speak his own tiredness over the issue. Hook's spark nestled into his hands, compressed small and dim. He pet it, but it was the absent motion of a mech comforting himself.

Hook stayed quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was a meek, humble thing. "I've been an aft, haven't I?"

Bonecrusher and Scavenger looked at each other. "Dunno," Bonecrusher said. "You been apologizing because you regret hurting us, or because you want us to stop being so unfair to you?"

Armor rattled as Hook shrank into himself. "…I've been an aft."

"What you gonna do about it, huh?"

Hook's helm bent forward, his visor staring through Scavenger as he thought. Bonecrusher squeezed his wrists to break him out of it, but the surgeon only shook his head. He didn't know. He'd already tried apologies. He'd tried being at their beck and call. In the end, the catty comments and sneering had shown his real attitude underneath the thin, temporary feeling of regret. He'd swung back around to thinking of them as lower and therefore undeserving of his respect. Apologies weren't offered to inferiors.

It was up to them to change him, since he'd failed so badly on his own.

Fortunately, Scavenger was here to save the day. "What can we do together to work this out as a team?" he asked Hook's spark. "That's what we do: we're Constructicons. We work together to solve problems. All of together, right? We're here to help you. You don't have to do it by yourself." Said in the sweetest possible tone, it took everything true about the weakest spark in their gestalt and laid out the facts. He didn't have to do it by himself because he'd already tried and failed. So they were going to help him.

And Hook quailed before that statement of his weakness because Scavenger was just so blasted earnest about it. Scavenger meant no insult. He was just calling it how he saw it. The Constructicons' weak spark didn't have to do anything by himself; they were there to help. Rejecting that help would be mean. They were being good teammates. Hook shouldn't reject that.

Bonecrusher didn't have the patience for Hook to reach that conclusion himself. "He's not angry," he told Scavenger. "He's afraid."

"I am not!" Yanking on his caught wrists got him nowhere, but Hook did it anyway.

The demolitionist restrained him easily, and Scavenger clucked at the struggling spark. "You're afraid? Why are you afraid? Are you afraid we're going to replace you?" The spark in his hands fluttered as that hit home. "You are. Oh, Hook. Hook, nooooo. Why do you do this to yourself? You don't have to push us away. Please don't push us away. We want you to be one of us. We're not going to let you go. Has this all been because you're scared we're going to replace you?"

The sparklight Bonecrusher was watching reflect off Scavenger started glittering, vastly agitated. Hook's heels dug into the floor, and Bonecrusher had to haul down on his wrists to keep him sitting. "No," Hook spluttered. A more unconvincing denial had never been said aloud, and they all knew it. "No, of course not. You couldn't replace me if you tried. Swindle's just - he's a tool, a toy. Something for Mixmaster to play with. He could never take my place. A replacement. What an absurd thought. Ha!"

"Exactly," Scavenger crooned. "Why would you ever think that? Mixmaster's upset that you're stomping on his playtime and keep trying to bump in. He's not trying to replace you. He doesn't want to be mad at you, but you're being such a grouch. You're trying to push us away before we can push you away, but we're not going to push you away. We'd never do that. He'd never do that. He wants you on the team, too. He'd forgive you if you left him to his fun. Isn't that obvious? Yes, it is. You knew that all along, didn't you?"

"Y-yes. Yes! Yes, of course I knew that."

"So you're going to apologize to Mixmaster and let him have his fun from now on, right?"

"I - " Hook swallowed hard. "I suppose I might owe him a few words for being, ahm, slightly obtuse."

"Yes, you do." Happy, Scavenger snuggled the spark. The surgeon made a soft noise and curled forward over him, visor wide as affection swamped him. Bonecrusher almost reeled from the backwash. Scavenger's joy at having his way was a dangerous thing. "And I'll have a word with him, have him meet you halfway. As long as you're sincere, I think this'll all turn out. And you'll be sincere, right? Because you mean it? Yes, of course you do. See how easy that was? You did so well, Hook! I'm so glad we had this talk."

Dazed, Hook swayed in the seat. "…yes…"

"You know, it's not good for you to be trapped in the repairbay all the time. You should get out and get your hands dirty with the rest of us more. Maybe then you won't feel like you're the only one who can do stuff." Even a hint of scolding stung like a rust infection after such an approval-high. Hook flinched. "I feel bad that we let you get this way."

"S'not your fault," the surgeon mumbled on automatic.

Scavenger gave his spark a cluck and patted it safely back into its chamber. "I think it is. If I'd been paying attention, you wouldn't have gotten so out of control. It's kind of silly that your ego got so big, isn't it?" What else could Hook do but nod agreement? Everything Scavenger was saying was true, just kindly chiding him instead of smacking him down. "I should be paying more attention to you. Hook, do you want me to reschedule to spend more time in the repairbay with you?"

Close supervision by the master of guilt. Bonecrusher projected silent amusement through the bond at his teammate, laughing inside.

Hook crumpled, ashamed of his dependence but nonetheless relieved. Scavenger would have him well in hand by the end of the first week. "There are some projects I've been neglecting due to lack of resources. It would be - pleasant to have a partner on-shift to work on them."

"Okay. I'll talk to Scrapper, too." Scavenger pat-patted Hook's spark chamber closed and sat up, clapping his hands decisively. "Well then! I think we're done! How easy. You know, I was expecting it to be something big, but it's just the same old, same old."

Bonecrusher let go of Hook's hands, and the surgeon cautiously brought his arms up to close his chest. He turned his head to eye the demolitionist warily, not quite believing they were finished. Bonecrusher typically inflicted more physical punishments on him. This had been an emotionally and mentally taxing ordeal, not a physical one.

His expression changed from suspicion to relief as the gestalt bond finally cleared. The tension across his shoulders released. He started to rise -

Scavenger promptly pushed him in the chest, sitting him back down. "No, you sit there and think about what you've done," he scolded, and indignation zapped through the gestalt bond.

Scavenger clucked.

Abashed, Hook sat. Shame ate his indignation alive.

"I want to hear that apology before you give it to Mixmaster," the salvager chirped before bouncing over to start dragging the table back into place.

Bonecrusher grinned and patted a slumped shoulder. Hook gave him a mournful look but said nothing.

Destruction complete. It should all be smooth rebuilding from here.

(Ha ha. No.

Months later, Swindle horked up poisoned energon.

It seemed that somebody felt neglected. And more than a bit vindictive.

The other Constructicons were not amused.

Shortly thereafter, they made sure that Hook was very sorry. Very, very sorry.)

[* * * * *]

[A/N:Thank you, Surefall! I'm so sorry this took so long.]