A/N: A bit late, but it's still Tuesday! It is where I live, anyway. Anyways, thanks for clicking and reading. Warning: brief mention of slash. For two sentences.
I have never, currently do not, and most likely never will own any rights to Transformers.
Lost
There were times when he regretted his function. If he had been a groundsmech, perhaps he would understand why they cared so much for other beings. If he had not been on the bombing squad, perhaps he would have seen his targets as something other than blank cities. If he had been something other, maybe he would've had a chance with the mech he loved.
The war had taken a turn, and he'd been put into a Gestalt, sent to earth, and long forgotten. He'd grown to like the mechs in his combiner, and to at least tolerate the rest of the soldiers who lived with him on earth. It was peaceful, if you can call any part of war peaceful.
But sometimes, when he was recharging, or taking the graveyard shift in the control room, or was alone in the quarters he normally shared with four other fliers, he would remember.
It was so painful to remember.
It always began with the screams. He couldn't remember how he'd been able to filter out the screams, even though his rational mind reminded him of the massive distance between his alt-form and the ground, and the roar of the air and his own engines and those of his comrades. But, alone and in the silence, all he could hear were the shrieks of terror and pain.
Next came the smoke, acrid and bitter, clogging his intakes and irritating his optic crystals with dirty particles. He'd cough and splutter, rubbing at his optics to clear his systems of the foreign contaminate that wasn't there, merely a phantom. He could feel the heat on his underbelly, washing his internal with a sickening warmth before he managed to close the trap door over the cavity that had contained the bombs. He and his squadron would bank, flying back to base, as they had every time.
And through the smoke, the fire, the screams, he'd hear a voice. A single, pained voice.
:Why?:
He was turning in darkness, searching, trying to find the speaker. He'd call out, only to have his words swallowed.
:How could you do this?:
A hand reached out, bright blue with white accents. He reached for it, grasping it, and felt himself being pulled through memories.
:What is wrong with you? There were civilians in those cities! Mechs and femmes and younglings and sparklings! How could you hold them accountable for the actions of a few bots?:
He saw the mech's face now, angry and hurt, but with concern lying deep beneath his features. This was the last time he'd seen Gauge, just a cycle before he'd gotten his orders to report to a shuttle for transport to earth.
:Don't tell me you were just following orders! You can refuse!:
He shook his head, trying to persuade the little mech that he couldn't, that it would only end badly-.
:For you. You'd be demoted. Primus, can't you think of someone besides yourself and your precious sky? You're killing innocent bots! How the pit can you live with yourself?:
He'd raised a hand, to strike Gauge, but he was moving away again, feeling himself being pulled back further into his memory bank.
:They've declared war!:
He felt the phantom pangs of surprise and fear echo through his systems, staring up at Gauge as he cycled air to cool his systems.
:No, I'm serious! I just came from the war room! All older students are going to be transferred to bases for emergency training and debriefing.:
Dread began to replace the fear, and he looked down at his hands, clenched together.
:I think I can pull some strings and get us together, but I don't know if I have enough time...:
He was pulling away again. There were just flashes now, suggestions of what had occurred. A touch, a smile, a laugh. A brief, chaste kiss, filled with searing heat. A sloppier version, filled with giggling and the taste of hi-grade. Heaving intakes and passioned cries as his sparkchamber unlocked, bathing Gauge in a blue-white light.
He finally stopped, and realized where he was. His conscious processor felt the first pangs of dread and guilt for what he knew would come.
:Wait! Hey, stop!:
He'd lowered his head, walking faster. There wasn't any reason to greet the science student. Why couldn't he just let him mourn in peace?
:I heard about your family! I'm so sorry.:
He'd rounded on him, snarling that it wasn't his business, that he should just leave him alone, that it wasn't even worth it anymore, that-.
He'd stopped thinking when he'd first felt Gauge's mouth on his.
"I-."
:Shh. It's okay.:
"I don't want-."
:You need it.:
"But I-."
:It's okay, I'm here for you.:
But he was moving away now, disappearing into the darkness.
"No, come back!"
:I'm so sorry.:
"Wait, no! Come back!"
:I love you.:
"Please, don't leave me!"
:I'll always love you!:
"I can't-I need-I-."
"Slingshot! Hey, Sling!"
He awoke with a start.
Silverbolt was there, gathering him up in his arms, as were the rest of his combiner. "You were having another dream, Sling," his leader murmured, rubbing soothing circles in the space between his wing joints.
"I-he-we were-oh, Primus!"
No one said anything as Slingshot cried silently, shaking. They had been together for so long, it was no longer necessary to say anything. Silverbolt began to hum quietly as he settled down, lying down with him as he began to drift back into recharge.
Thanks for reading! You should go review this now. You can feel your resistance weakening as you read this.
