In a Rescue Prime AU, Boulder, Breakdown, and Bulkhead are brothers. But as we know all too well from TFP, brothers just can't be happy together. This is exactly what went wrong.
Notes:
So a couple notes: I fudged on a LOT of canon. Like a lot. I didn't know something, I made it all up. I also referred to Alex Irvine's book, "Transformers: Exodus" a lot, but I probably STILL got something wrong. For example, I have no idea what an HUD is, but I used the term probably twice here in ways I've seen it used in other fanfics. Hope it's not too jarring for you. Anyway. . . enjoy the story!
Also: I'm using the way of marking Cybertonian time that Kemmasandi does in Rise (a really great fanfic, btw). So:
Nanoklik= Instant
Klik= Minute
Joor= Hour
Orn= Day
Chord= Week
Lune= Month
Vorn= Year
Work Text:
Target all evacuating Rescue Teams.
The memory of the intercepted message was burned into Bulkhead's memory files, and every time he revisited it, he panicked all over again. He was headed toward Nova Cronum with as much speed as he could muster, and yet it seemed like he was never going fast enough. With every landmark he passed, every war-ravaged building, one word exploded frantically in his mind.
Boulder. Boulder. Boulder. And of course, the requisite oh Primus don't let him be dead don't let him don't don't please no please no no no. . .
Primus, if his little brother had just decided to join him on the Wreckers instead of being on a fragging Rescue Team . . . but Bulkhead knew that was ridiculous, and it was a complete reverse from what usually crossed his mind when he thought of Boulder- which was a thankful prayer that the soft-spoken, artistic young mech had chosen one of the safer posts in the war. And his brother could never have been a Wrecker.
Well . . . Boulder couldn't, anyway.
Bulkhead, once again, felt familiar confused sadness envelope him as Breakdown flashed instantaneously in his memory. It only lasted a nanoklik before he shoved it away and replaced it with the proper anger.
He pushed on, not wanting to relive old memories but finding that he couldn't outrun them. One found him just as he passed a pit in the ground big enough to swallow a Prime in.
Three mecha, their frames large and bulky, sitting in the shadow of a half-built tower as the light fades from the planet and sipping cubes of low-grade. The smallest of them is talking excitedly about something Bulkhead doesn't exactly understand, but he and Breakdown ask Boulder questions about it anyway.
Three brothers standing in a crowd, listening to the daring ideals of a revolutionary. Bulkhead listens, and wonders; is what this Megatronus says true? Could he be more than a construction laborer? More than what his caste defines him as? He wonders, and next to him, his brothers wonder too.
Bulkhead could see Nova Cronum far ahead, and his spark sank within him. The city was a firepit, and smoke rose from it like a living thing. All around the outside walls were the mangled, flaming forms of escape ships that had been shot down.
Boulder's not in one of those. He's not. He's not. He's not. . .
He pulled up the file again, read the short line of text for the hundredth time, and went faster. Target all evacuating Rescue Teams. He should have been able to do something, warn Boulder, warn all of the Rescue Teams, but he hadn't had a comm line with his little brother since he joined the Wreckers. And Ultra Magnus had decided, after Bulkhead had shown him the message, that Nova Cronum was a lost cause and that it would be less than pointless for the Wreckers to throw their lives away trying to defend it.
There had been pain and regret, deep regret, in the commander's optics as he said this, but that hadn't stopped Bulkhead from leaving the Wreckers the very next orn to go find Boulder on his own.
More memories flashed at him, and this time, they were not so pleasant.
"Why are you so interested in those Decepticons?" Bulkhead asks, trying to exude the proper amount of disapproval. Breakdown scoffs.
"They're not that bad, Bulk!"
"Breaky, come on! I'm getting some real bad mojo about these guys. . ."
"They were the first people to tell me that I didn't have to be a laborer my whole life!" Breakdown snaps.
"Guys!" This was Boulder, and his eager face quickly makes the other two step away from each other- Bulkhead didn't even remember stepping closer to Breakdown, but it had happened. "What do you think about Rescue work? I've always wanted to be on a Rescue Team!"
"You have?" Breakdown asks.
"Well- sort of. I just didn't think it was possible if I was just a laborer. But if I don't have to stay a laborer-"
"See, Bulk?" Breakdown interrupts. "Boulder agrees with the Decepticons, too."
"Well- no," Boulder says. "They're a little- a little scary." He flinches, only slightly, at Breakdown's scoff. "I'd rather follow the other faction. . ."
"Other faction?" Bulkhead says.
"Autobots." Boulder's optics light up again. "You know, the part of the Decepticons led by Orion Pax?"
"Megatron's much better," Breakdown says disdainfully. "He's a former gladiator! Orion Pax is just a. . ." He seems to cast about for an appropriate insult. "A clerk!"
"A clerk with a purpose." Boulder's face is unusually determined. Normally, he hates arguing with Breakdown. "And he doesn't approve of his followers destroying things to prove a point."
"Aw, come on, Boulder!" Breakdown initiates the transform sequence in his arm and holds up the hammer. "Are you telling me I shouldn't want to destroy things?"
"Okay, guys," Bulkhead interrupts. "Maybe we should just. . . cool it down?"
"Yeah," Boulder says immediately, relief flooding his optics.
But Breakdown sighs, and Bulkhead catches a glimpse of frustration and discontent on his face before he turns away.
Bulkhead reached the city gates. Or. . . what used to be gates. Primus, there wasn't even anything that vaguely resembled a wall anymore.
Air fire, the Wrecker part of his mind thought. Seekers. Starscream!
He wheeled away from the inferno that was the city- he was sure his gears would melt
within him if he stepped foot inside- and went to search the burning fields outside. The fields which certainly did not hold an escape ship with Boulder inside.
The ships were almost too many to number, and Bulkhead knew it would take orns, maybe chords, to search through them all. Adding to that was the fact that if there was anyone who survived- Boulder, Boulder survived- Bulkhead would have no way to help them if they were damaged. He was hardly a medic.
He began to search.
"See?" Bulkhead points at the news reading. "Now the Decepticons have started an all-out war!"
"A war for change," Breakdown argues.
"It's still a war, Breaky!" Bulkhead sighs, noticing how Boulder is pointedly turned away from both of them, doodling something in charcoal on the wall. "Look, it just. . . doesn't sit right with me, all this destroying stuff."
"Blah, blah, blah. Aren't you the one that talked about joining the Wreckers?"
"That's different!"
"Why?!" Breakdown shouts. "They still break stuff! It's just that they're under the command of a data clerk instead of a gladiator!"
"They say Orion Pax is a Prime now," Boulder says suddenly, turning to face them. "Which is better, a Prime or a gladiator?"
"I don't buy into all this 'Prime' stuff," Breakdown says dismissively. "'Sides, aren't the two factions fighting now, or something?"
"The Prime still wants change," Boulder says. "He just doesn't agree with Megatron's methods of getting it."
"So. . . they're fighting."
"Yeah," Boulder says quietly. "Yeah, they're fighting."
"Hey, leave him alone, alright, Breaky?" Bulkhead interrupts.
"Whatever," Breakdown grinds out. "Weren't we heading to Praxus? I think we've rested enough. Let's get back on the road."
It took two orns before Bulkhead found a body. It wasn't Boulder's, but the frametype was so similar that Bulkhead knew that the mech must have occupied the same role in his team that Boulder did his.
Bulkhead had been saved by a Rescue Team before. He and Wheeljack had jumped over a cliff to make the 'Cons chasing them assume that they had died. It had worked, but they had been stuck on the cliff face, unable to move for fear of falling, for at least four orns. A Rescue Team- Tau Beta 4, if he remembered right- had lived up to the name of their job and saved the two Wreckers.
Bulkhead hadn't stopped bragging to Wheeljack that his little brother was on one of those teams for a lune.
But now-
He turned over a hunk of viscous, half-melted metal that used to be the port side of an escape pod, barely giving the angry explosion of pain receptors in his hands a second thought. Boulder hadn't gone to Praxus with them. During their journey to the city, they had happened to pass a road that went to Iacon. After much talking with his two brothers, Boulder had decided to follow that road and try and join a Rescue Team there. Breakdown, however supportive he was of his little brother's decision, had flat-out refused to go with him, claiming Praxus was where he wanted to go, not Iacon.
At the time, Bulkhead had wondered if it had more to do with the fact that Iacon was now the main support base of the Autobots, and that Breakdown had never really agreed with Boulder on the question of whether the Decepticons or the Autobots were right. Now he wondered about things less tangible- what would have happened if he had gone with Boulder to Iacon, rather than with Breakdown to Praxus. For some reason, he had decided to go with his older brother rather than his younger one.
Maybe, he whispered to himself in the privacy of "what if", maybe if he had gone with Boulder, Breakdown would have come with them. And then what happened in Praxus wouldn't have happened at all.
But he hadn't.
And the memory of Praxus told him that again and again.
The two of them come to Praxus as a battle begins, and find themselves unable to leave once it has started in earnest. The Decepticons and the Autobots are fighting for control of the city, Bulkhead soon learns. He and Breakdown stay in the far outreaches of the state, believing it will protect them from the worst of the fighting.
They have several conversations about whose side they will choose if the time comes when it is impossible not to fight. As ever, Breakdown leans more toward the Decepticons, giving reasons that sound both convincing and earnest, but Bulkhead can't decide. Without Boulder to make a case for the Autobots, he doesn't know which side would be better. He nearly always ends the almost-arguments in a draw, saying that he hopes it will never come to that, that the battle will soon draw to a close and they can live in peace.
But as the lunes pass, he begins to realize that will not happen. Energon is in low supply, lower than Bulkhead has ever experienced. The fighting grows more vicious, and more and more of the city is destroyed each orn. Bulkhead finds himself journeying farther and farther into parts of the city-state he never had before, as his Energon levels grow increasingly more depleted, to find fuel, and Breakdown does the same.
It is on one of these runs that he comes across his first real reason not to join the Decepticon side.
His sensors are alerting him to nearby Energon, but his audio receptors are warning of something else. Someone is crying, pleading, vocalizer cracking and glitching, and over it all, another voice barks harsh and cruel laughter. Bulkhead hangs back, not wanting to see what it is that's going on, but his warnings of dangerously low levels of Energon in his HUD spur him inexorably forward.
And then he sees where the noises are coming from, and he stops being a starving mech and becomes Bulkhead again. Bulkhead, who is unable to ignore the horrific thing the mech with Decepticon brands is inflicting on the other.
The wrecking ball function in his arms, so long ignored since he and his brothers had left construction work, springs online. He's leaping forward before he can think, attacking the bot- the Decepticon- who had been hurting the other. The mech snarls and initiates a transform sequence that has him brandishing two wicked-looking vibroblades in Bulkhead's face.
Bulkhead doesn't think. He acts. He breaks. He brings the wrecking ball down on the 'Con's helm, over and over, until there isn't anything left but a mess of smashed plating and a leaking, spreading pool of Energon.
He faintly remembers the other mech thanking him, after. But his levels are so low, and the warnings before his eyes so frantic, that he stumbles off without another word.
Later, after he has found some scrap of Energon- enough to keep him from falling into forced recharge- he allows himself to think back on what had happened. And he knows, with a certainty he rarely feels these days, that he could never choose the Decepticons if the option came.
And it is only a chord or so after this incident that the option does come.
There were so many bodies. In the ships. Out of the ships. Some barely recognizable, others all too familiar.
He had found the remains of Rescue Team Tau Beta 4 about three orns ago. He had murmured a somber "till all are one" over the burning ship.
Now he wasn't sure he could have found the strength to speak even if he had found Boulder.
The bot is tall and sleek, wings flaring high over his helm, and on his chest a Decepticon symbol flashes. It is this Bulkhead focuses on, and next to him, he can see Breakdown staring at it as well.
But Breakdown's optics are lit with cautious excitement and curiosity. Bulkhead shivers.
The Decepticon had landed in the part of the city where they stayed most of their time now, spending the orns in recharge rather than waste Energon they didn't have. His weapons had been out, and his faceplates were twisted in a snarl of readiness- obviously he had been expecting to come across Autobot resistance, but there had been no one there, save for a few minicons who still scavenged the sector for Energon. . . and the two brothers.
The Seeker's optics had landed on Bulkead and Breakdown, who were resting, their fuel nearly depleted, near a wall. As ever, they sat a few paces away from each other- slow starvation had changed them both, and they regarded each other with open resentment and hostility more often than not.
Bulkhead had seen the Decepticon's gaze then travel to his chest, his shoulders, and his helm- no doubt searching for an Autobot insignia. Breakdown, who had begun to sit up in interest, received the same calculating stare. Then the Seeker's faceplates had creased in pleasure.
"Brothers," he is saying now, "I come to you with a generous offer- to join the Decepticon ranks and fight for change under our leader, Lord Megatron!"
Breakdown nearly bolts to his feet. The Seeker's optics flicker over him in pleased surprise.
"You. . . accept?" he says, and Bulkhead doesn't miss the slight hesitation, as if he were used to mecha not accepting.
"Can you fuel me?" Breakdown asks bluntly.
"Of course," the Decepticon purrs. "You will never go depleted in the Decepticon ranks."
"Then yes," Breakdown says. He smiles.
Bulkhead remembers that moment all too often- when he is trying to convince himself that Breakdown had only agreed to join in order to get Energon. He remembers the smile that had landed on his brother's faceplates. He remembers it, and he shudders.
After Breakdown's declaration, he and the Seeker both turn to Bulkhead.
"And you?" the Decepticon asks, seemingly emboldened by Breakdown's acceptance. "Will you join our mighty cause and abandon starvation?" He extends a hand as if to help Bulkhead up.
Bulkhead, leaning against the wall, shutters his optics. He looks at the Seeker and sees the Decepticon he had killed, and the horrible thing he had stopped the bot from doing. His decision-making process is not long.
"No," he says, and manages not to slump back against the wall. "No." And then, with an effort, "Boulder stands with the Autobots, and so do I!"
Breakdown's optics narrow.
The Seeker scoffs, and onlines a wicked-looking gun system in his arm. "I have no use for more Autobot-aligned Praxians," he says. "You won't be doing any standing, I think. . ."
Bulkhead has a nanoklik to react before the Decepticon releases the missile.
He offlines his optics and falls to the side. To the Seeker, whose missile hits the wall above him in a fiery explosion an instant after he does so, it appears that Bulkhead is dead.
His optics are still offline, but he keeps his audio receptors on. He hears Breakdown's voice. His brother sounds shocked as he asks, "You. . . killed him?"
"Yes." The Seeker's voice is clipped and uncaring. "And you must learn that when it comes to war, we cannot allow even one mech to join our enemies. Decepticons are ruthless, strong, and we will be victorious- if we fight together!" Now there is a hesitation in the Decepticon's voice. "Was he a. . . compatriot of yours? Your. . . your conjux?"
"No!" Breakdown says. "He's my. . . he was my. . ."
Brother, Bulkhead thinks.
". . . He's no one. I just. . . knew him for a while," Breakdown finishes.
And somehow, Bulkhead is not hurt.
Not too much.
He hears the two mecha begin to shift. "What is your designation?" the Seeker asks.
"Breakdown."
"Hmm, fitting. Do you have any weapon systems?"
There is the sound of transformation, and a grunt from Breakdown. "Hammer?"
"Mmm, acceptable. We will have to equip you with a blaster, however, before the next battle."
"What battle?"
The voices begin to move farther away. But Bulkhead distinctly hears the Seeker reply, "After we take Praxus, Nova Cronum is next. The Autobots will never stand a chance with so many mighty warriors in our ranks . . ."
It occurred to Bulkhead, faintly and as if from far away, that Breakdown had most likely been in the battle that destroyed Nova Cronum. That had. . . killed Boulder.
Primus, please, don't let him be dead.
He could see other bots beginning to comb the burning field. With warnings beginning to blink in front of his vision- Energon levels 23%, critical, refuel immediately- he turned over another ship, scanned another body, felt his hope sink lower into him than it had ever before.
He remembered the last time he had seen his little brother. It had been a vorn or so after Breakdown had become a Decepticon, and Bulkhead had declared himself an ally of the Autobots. After that day, Bulkhead had dragged himself to the center of the city- shattered confidence, depleted Energon levels, and all- and requested of the first bot with an insignia he came across to become an Autobot. They had fueled him, equipped him with two electro-blasters, and put him in the Wreckers.
And finally, Bulkhead had found a place where he felt he belonged. He made friends quickly, especially with the irrepressible Wheeljack. They fought battles, set traps, exploded grenades- it was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he found that he enjoyed it immensely.
And then. . . he found Boulder again.
The young mech had been overjoyed that his brother had also joined the Autobots, and had asked dozens of excited questions. There had been plenty involving Breakdown, but Bulkhead managed to deflect them all. He didn't know why, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Boulder that his brother had joined the 'Cons.
Bulkhead had then been introduced to the members of Boulder's Rescue Team, and although he couldn't remember their names now, the memory of their young, happy faces was burned into his files all too well. He would mourn their deaths, but with a pang of selfishness he realized that most of the grief would come from knowing Boulder had died along with them.
It had been vorns since he had talked to his brother. Wreckers and Rescue Bots just didn't have the same missions, and during war, it was just too dangerous to keep a comm line. Bulkhead hated the long absences, but he knew they were necessary. . . necessary. . .
He stumbled. His HUD was nearly screaming at him- Levels 12%, danger of shutdown, refuel immediately- and he knew, with a sinking, familiar feeling, that he wasn't going to find Boulder. . .
He forced himself to shut down all not-essential functions, re-route his subsystems, and find a safe place to recharge. War had drilled this, at least, into him. He fell, with a crash that nearly cracked his plating, next to an extinguished ship. The last thing he heard was the whine of his systems shutting down.
The counter in his HUD informed him that a chord had passed while he was in recharge. His repair nanites had reformatted the drainage of Energon so that his levels were decreasing at a slower rate. He still functioned, but barely.
He sat up. The field of burning ships burned no longer. Mecha milled about, scarred and muttering- not survivors, but veterans. Mecha like Bulkhead, coming to look for the dead.
Shuttering his optics- and instinctively thanking Primus he hadn't offlined- Bulkhead stood. In the distance, he could see a. . . a massive pile of. . . of something he couldn't quite-
Then he knew.
They were bodies.
"No," he whispered, and began running forward. Boulder, no! Don't be there, please!
The mecha who stood at the pile turned to watch him arrive, and there was no surprise in their faces, only sad resignation. One of them, a smaller bot, held a datapad, and Bulkhead could see names on it- names that he was slowly crossing out, one after the next.
"No," Bulkhead said again, and suddenly he found himself beginning to babble meaninglessly, words pouring out of his vocalizer with no thought behind them. "Please, Boulder, where is he, Primus, no. . . no, no, no, did he die, please, tell me, do you know? Please, please, I can't, I'm sorry, Boulder. . ."
"He has a list," one of the mecha said dully, gesturing at the small bot. "Of all the mecha who. . . who were. . ." He broke off, vocalizer spitting angry static.
"Primus," another bot muttered. "Rescue Bots. They went after the Rescue Bots."
"All. . . all of the teams," the small mech whispered. "There are no more. There. . . are no more."
"Let me see," Bulkhead said abruptly. "The list. Please."
The small bot handed it over wordlessly.
It took less than a kilk for Bulkhead to find the names. Sigma 17, their team's title, and listed underneath: Heatwave, Chase, Boulder, Blades.
The names of the other three resonated in his mind, and suddenly he could hear Boulder's voice again.
"And this is Chase- Blades- Heatwave, the team leader-"
Now he remembered, he thought dully. Now that they were all. . . all dead. . .
Now that Boulder was dead. . .
He dropped the datatpad and turned to stumble away, walking blindly, one pede dragging after the next. His systems recognized the overwhelming grief spreading in him and triggered the cleansing fluid protocols in his optics so they didn't burn out. He was too late to abort the program, and the half-ache of fluid dripping from his optics did little to distract him from the pain inside his spark.
Surprisingly, he didn't think Boulder anymore. He didn't deny that he was gone. All that was left was the hurt, and oh, it did hurt. He found himself releasing sounds he didn't even know his vocalizer could make, keening and broken bits of words and glitching sobs.
Behind him, Nova Cronum smoldered on.
Bulkhead knew, when the grief passed, that Breakdown had killed Boulder. Maybe not intentionally, or even directly, but he had. If he had not been the one to shoot Sigma 17's ship down, one of the Decepticons he aligned himself with had, and he had undoubtedly shot down another.
His brother had killed his brother.
Both of them were dead now.
Breakdown will pay, Bulkhead vowed. I will make sure of that, if I have to chase him across the stars!
And with his spark so burdened, he turned and began the long journey back to Iacon.
Far away, in a distant sector of a distant galaxy, a pod floated. The inhabitants slept.
Stars watched.
Inside, the systems of the ship whirred and hummed gently, keeping an eye over the four bots who rested in stasis. The mainframe went through the power-down sequence, preparing the pod for an eternity of traveling. It sent files through the systems to the data banks, transferring the last images the cameras and microphones had recorded. One such file sat at the center, playing over again for the record. Scraps of audio scratched out, cutting off erratically as the pod continued its shutdown.
"We have to go back and hel-"
"-ordered to evacuate, Heatwa-"
"-going to die, all of them, they're-"
"-sensors indicate another presence outside the shi-"
"-ergon eater, Energon eater, Energon eater-"
"Blades, stop, calm dow-"
"Ship, deep space protocol, now!"
"-go into stasis, Heatwave!"
"Now!"
A silence.
A robotic voice, declaring: All is well. Stasis deployed. Creature disposed of.
The file played itself out.
The ship floated through space.
And all was well.