Title: Spare Tires
Warning: This inhabits a weird area where it's a humor fic, but people sensitive to misunderstandings causing serious discomfort probably shouldn't read.
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: G1
Characters: Autobots. And some Decepticons. Everybody?
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Scenes set in the Third Wheel fic universe without actually being in the story.
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Part Three
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The prison barracks in the P.O.W. camps weren't pretty, but they got the job done. Except for the reinforced walls and bars, they looked more like regular grunt bunks than prison cells. It helped cut down on the trapped feeling to keep them in familiar surroundings, the theory went, and anyway, Jazz swore he had a touch of herder in his coding somewhere. Groups of Decepticons triggered a need to go guard them, maybe nip their heels to keep them bunched together. Singled-out Decepticons were more prone to trigger his other deep code instincts. The ones nobody liked to hear details of in the aftermath.
Or at least that's what he 'just happened' to tell Bluestreak in the hearing of a new convoy of prisoners, who then went on to spread the word. The Decepticons quickly decided behaving themselves in the barracks was a better choice than earning time in the solitary cells. Jazz might make the isolated 'Cons disappear.
Besides, when the strange, frightening noises clicked outside the barracks at night, it was nice knowing there were people in the bunks around a mech. Witnesses were a good thing.
So the prison barracks did their job, and what the walls couldn't do, inhibitor claws, mode locks, and as many weapons pried off the prisoners as physically possible did. That had made the one and only time the Autobots got their hands on Sixshot rather interesting. Optimus Prime insisted on fair and even treatment of all prisoners, even six-changer Circuit-su specialists, but only Sixshot's grudgingly-given parole had kept the mech out of stasis lockdown the entirety of his short stay in the camp before Megatron negotiated his release. It had still left the Autobots with the problem of how to take the guns off a guy who turned into a gun.
The goods news was that after that, they knew what to do if they ever got a hold of Shockwave or Megatron. They could disarm anyone, now.
Today, thankfully, the question wasn't how to physically disarm anyone. This was more of a metaphorical disarmament.
*"This is cracked,"* Trailbreaker said over commline as they unlocked the bars. The Decepticon prisoners inside glared at them but kept to their bunks, unwilling to risk charging armed guards, even if those guards were Autobots. Anyway, getting past the guards here just meant Bluestreak would snipe them once they were outside the building. *"Are you sure this is going to work?"*
Why did everyone keep asking him that? *"Trust me a little, here! It'll work."* Smokescreen didn't step past the bars. This wasn't an inspection. "Horri-Bull. Needlenose," he barked. "Front and center. A certain Power That Be wants to have a word with you." He put a nasty kind of emphasis on the word, implying things. Things that made the other Decepticons look away from the selected prisoners, relief and pity flashing over their faces.
Better those two than them, the feeling ran. May the interrogation leave something of the pair to crawl back, but nobody here was going to get their hopes up. Sacrifices had to be made to appease the demon scratching outside the walls, black and white and laughing all over.
The two Decepticons obeyed, but reluctantly. In Horri-Bull's case, he hunched forward in a way that had both Autobots clapping a hand on their sidearms in warning. Needlenose elbowed him, and he subsided. "You won't get anything from us," Horri-Bull muttered.
"Yeah," Needlenose chimed in.
Smokescreen carefully didn't smile. Expression hard, he drew his sidearm. "You know the drill. Turn." The Decepticons shared a glance before sullenly spinning around to put their backs to the Autobots. Smokescreen kept his gun trained on them as Trailbreaker moved in with stasis cuffs.
Horri-Bull growled angrily as the Autobot jerked his wrists up behind his back to cuff. Needlenose just glared. He seemed the better behaved of the two, more level-headed at least, but that wasn't saying much. Horri-Bull had a flash-point temper. Smokescreen kept his gun out as Trailbreaker spun the two prisoners around and pushed them out, locking the bars behind them.
The rest of the prisoners didn't watch them go.
They all relaxed as soon as they were out of the building, but not by much. The two 'Cons never forgot they were prisoners, and the two 'Bots knew to never let their guard down. It was still nice to drop the act. Frightening people wasn't Smokescreen's idea of a good time.
"Hope you two are ready," he said lightly as he took Needlenose's elbow to guide him away, "because when next you meet…" He waggled an optic ridge suggestively.
"Meh, it's just a ceremony," Horri-Bull sneered. "It's a formality, and anyway, it's scrap. This's all scrap. You Autobots and your niceness. You're just putting on a show for your propaganda, and it's not even legal. I don't recognize the authority of that little rust smear of a warden! And if you hurt him," he said, setting his heels against Trailbreaker's pull on his arm as he looked back over his shoulder toward where his lover was being led away, "I'll kill you all."
Horri-Bull threatened people. A lot. Smokescreen had yet to go anywhere near him or his barrack without a threat being spat through the bars at him. This threat, however, came out low and deadly serious.
The Praxian sighed. "Your fiancee has the worst set of cold feet this side of Polyhex," he told Needlenose, and Horri-Bull made an enraged sound - a more normal one, anyway - as Trailbreaker pulled him away. Needlenose kept his optics on him until he was out of sight. Smokescreen let him, then gestured into the other washrack. "Shall we?"
It wasn't as though conditions in the P.O.W. camp were bad, but the prisoners didn't often get washrack time. Too many fights, and groups got stupid when they thought they could rush the guards in a mob. Smokescreen could handle one unarmed prisoner let loose to freshen up, however, so Needlenose scrubbed while he leaned against the door in casual guard.
"He's right," the Decepticon said suddenly, without stopping. "It's just a formality. It won't even change our official files."
"It'll get written into your files with us, if that makes a difference," Smokescreen said. "And you'll get two days in the solitary cells for a honeymoon. That's gotta be worth something."
"Oh, like that's so great." But it was better than nothing, definitely more than they'd get among the Decepticons, who didn't do frilly weddings.
According to what Smokescreen had learned, endura ceremonies were closer to promotions than celebrations over in the other faction. Nice, but deliberately not special, he assumed to keep anyone from copping an attitude. A conjunx wedding registered among the ranks at the same level as two mechs being awarded a medal for extraordinary service, only without everyone in a base obliged to applaud. Smokescreen had initially thought that sounded like a lousy party, but Needlenose had given him a funny look and asked if he thought many Decepticons actually wanted other 'Cons to attend their wedding.
Good point.
A fake Autobot marriage 'forced' on Needlenose and Horri-Bull would give Needlenose the ceremony he wanted, if not the legal status. It would still be recognized unofficially among other Decepticons, especially since Smokescreen had made a point of arranging all the barracks would have a small treat buffet set up to make sure everyone knew there was a wedding reception being celebrated. By the time Needlenose and Horri-Bull got out of solitary, honeymoon over, they'd have the makings of a great story to loudly complain about to the other prisoners, and word would spread. Everyone over in the Decepticons would know about their unhappy fate before too long.
Yeah, those two? The worst luck, those guys. They were in a P.O.W. camp together, and one of the guards noticed them fragging regularly. The next thing they knew, they were hauled up before the camp warden in some disgusting fru-fru wedding ceremony. Totally forced. They didn't have a choice. They had to get married. At gun point.
With music. "Primus," Needlenose whispered when Smokescreen recuffed him for the final walk to the exercise yard. "Primus, is that the wedding flight?" His wings twitched in longing, yearning for open air. "I wanted to fly to our wedding."
"You'll have to settle for walking. Can't have you taking off," Smokescreen said, patting him on the back, "but we thought it was appropriate. We even got a couple of singers." Jazz and Mirage, although he wouldn't mention that. Hopefully Needlenose wouldn't freak out having Special Ops breathing down his neck the entire ceremony like a reminder of just what kind of bargain he'd struck to have this wedding.
"It's perfect," Needlenose said in a voice so quiet Smokescreen didn't think he was supposed to hear. "It's wonderful."
Stopping to filch some of Sunstreaker's polish had made them late, but the angry, worried engine growls from Horri-Bull cut off completely the second he looked down the aisle and saw who had arrived. Smokescreen smiled. Being late was wholly worth the helpless look that turned Horri-Bull's optics soft and warm. It was there only a second, but Needlenose positively glowed at the sight of it.
Polished to shining, he swept down the aisle with Smokescreen at his elbow as escort and guard. When he stopped beside Horri-Bull, both Decepticons wore sullen expressions again. Smokescreen nodded to the musicians, and the wedding flight became to an old hymn of blessing. Mirage and Jazz launched into song. It didn't escape anyone's attention that Needlenose and Horri-Bull shuffled closer to one another during the duet.
Bluestreak stepped up into the magistrate's position, absolutely beaming happiness, and he nodded to Smokescreen. Smokescreen reset his vocalizer and drew his gun to catch the Decepticons' attention, since they seemed absorbed in each other. "Face each other, please," Bluestreak said. Horri-Bull hunched over again, but Smokescreen tapped the mech's arm pointedly. The two prisoners turned to face each other, and Bluestreak nodded to Trailbreaker and Hound, who stepped up behind the 'Cons to unlock one wrist each. "Hands in front of yourselves, now."
Puzzled, the two obeyed. Trailbreaker and Hound promptly snapped the free cuff dangling off each mech's wrist onto the other mech's uncuffed wrist, chaining them together. Needlenose and Horri-Bull stared at the cuffs in surprise, then looked up into each other's optics. In Needlenose's case, he looked quite a bit further up. Facing each other really served to emphasize how much bigger Horri-Bull was than him.
"Are we ready to begin?" Bluestreak asked brightly. Without looking away from each other, the two Decepticons nodded. They didn't even grumble a protest.
*"You're right. This is going to work,"* Trailbreaker said, sounding amazed. *"They're holding hands!"*
*"Clearly, they are two prisoners cuffed together. I see no hand-holding,"* Smokescreen corrected him dryly. *"Hand-holding is for Autobots."*
*"I can read hand,"* Mirage said just as dryly, *"and holding hands isn't the only Autobot thing they're up to right now. They're goo for each other. This will most definitely work."*
*"And you ain't seen nothing yet,"* Smokescreen said. The other Autobots looked at him strangely, but he had already turned to look down the aisle.
"Excuse me," a deep baritone voice interrupted Bluestreak's recitation of the rites, "if I might offer, I believe I can legally officiate a Decepticon ceremony?"
*"Perfect timing, Prime,"* Smokescreen said.
Needlenose looked like he might explode from sheer joy. Horri-Bull looked like he had swallowed something noxious. Both of them were holding hands as if their lives depended on it, and Mirage smiled at whatever they said in the privacy of hand-to-hand contact.
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