Well, I believe this is one of the longest chapters, which I hope makes up for how late it is. The beginning of this one gave me a hard time, but I worked through it, and I like where the chapter leaves off. I hope you do too! And once again, thank you all so much for the attention that this story has been given. Over forty reviews for three chapters? That's just amazing. Thank you all so much! And again, forgive me if I missed a line break.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here.
Breakdown came online to a gun pointed at the hood of his alt mode.
Fantastic.
He followed the gun up to a white servo, and then a similarly colored arm, and eventually reached a red chassis with a white helm. Of course, an Autobot just hadto show up. Primus, he had only been gone for twenty-four hours!
The gun wavered slightly. Oh, he knew which one this was.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little jet that couldn't." Breakdown was quite proud of himself for his witty barb, even if it referenced a squishy sparkling story.
The Aerialbot, who he knew to be Fireflight, frowned in honest confusion. "Couldn't what?"
Breakdown sighed in annoyance. "Aren't you Autobrats supposed to love your human culture?" The jet's faceplates brightened and he nodded avidly, waiting for the Lamborghini to continue. Okay, this was getting weird. He knew this one was known to be airheaded, no pun intended, but why wasn't he attacking yet?
"There's a human sparkling story with a similar name. Never mind, it doesn't matter. So, are you going to shoot me?"
Fireflight looked taken aback. "Why would I?" Breakdown resisted the urge to slap his servo to his faceplates. Not believing that he was even having this conversation, he gestured vaguely to the gun hanging limp from the youngling jet's servo.
The Aerialbot looked down in embarrassment. "Oh yeah, that. Uh, I don't really wanna shoot you...I mean, are you gonna attack me?"
Breakdown took a moment to think over this idea. He had declared for himself that he was no longer a Decepticon. That would make him a neutral, wouldn't it? Neutrals only fought one of the factions if threatened first. If the Autobot wasn't going to attack him, then he really didn't have a reason to harm him, did he?
Oh, look, reasons for harming people? Ever heard of that one, Motormaster?
"No, I guess not," he murmured, half in surprise. If someone had told him a week ago that he would be choosing not to attack an Autobot, he would have scoffed at them before hurling himself at them in anger.
The Autobot smiled in relief. "Oh, good. I really didn't want to get into a fight right now. I already had one with my brothers."
Breakdown was faintly interested in this. It was something he could relate to, fighting with his gestalt. And this would be good for him, therapeutic. What was it his book had said?
Talking with an outsider, a friend or peer about the situation could be helpful in the healing process. Speaking about your pain and experiences not only gets them into the open, but also allows you to come to terms with your situation and begin to move on. Words are one of the most powerful healing devices.
Maybe this Autobot had a use then, after all. Hopefully the entire faction wasn't just a pile of cannon fodder.
"Oh? I thought that the great Autobots could nevercome into conflict with each other." Breakdown transformed and leaned back against the tree he had been resting under, folding his arms behind his helm and looking like the epitome of calm and collected. Fireflight plopped down beside him will a dull thud. The spot was in the middle of nowhere and was far enough from the road that the humans could not see it, tucked away behind a hill as it was.
Fireflight let out a sharp release of air from his vents. "You would think, right? I mean, doesn't fighting with your gestalt, your team, your own brothers sound like a Decepticon thing?" The jet quickly noticed his faux pas and said, "No offense, of course."
Breakdown smirked grimly. "None taken, kid, trust me. It's definitely a 'Con thing, I know that firsthand. It's why I left."
The Aerialbot was still stuck on the first part of the statement, and had not yet possessed the second half. "Don't call me a kid; I'm almost the same age as you. Wait a minute, you left? Left what? The Decepticons?"
The Lambo was surprised to find himself smiling at the jet's forgetful antics. It was more than a little amusing, and kind of cute, in an innocent, juvenile way that would have had him eaten alive had he been a Decepticon. Oh, he was most definitely a kid.
"The Decepticons, the war. My brothers. Left them all. I finally got it through my thick helm that what was happening wasn't right. I mean, Motormaster was beating the slag out of me on a daily basis, I was – and still am – terrified of my entire gestalt. I don't trust anybody on my base; there are a few who I don't think will hurt me, but you can never be sure. They're always...watching, just waiting for when you let your guard down so they can get you.
"All of it, it was just too much. Things shouldn't be that way, that hurtful. Brothers are supposed to care for one another, right? That's what everyone says, everyone except the Decepticons. Brothers – what does that even mean? I know the definition, male siblings with the same creator, but it's used in so many ways in a non-literal sense. The Decepticons are supposed to be brothers in arms, my gestalt are supposed to be my brothers. Yet not one of those relationships has the same positive connotation that the word holds. There isn't healthy camaraderie. Nobody's joking around. Fights are all too real, and the insults are sparkfelt. It makes one wonder, what kind of brotherhood is this, when the blows are meant and the words are wounds? What kind of brothers hurt each other on purpose, look on each other in hatred? Whatever kind of brotherhood it is, it's nothing I want to be a part of anymore.
"I was never given a choice, did you know that? Me and my gestalt – because surely I can't call them brothers – we were created, and as soon as we onlined our programming told us to state our designations and swear our loyalty to the Decepticons. There was no choice, no time to stop and think. It was placed in our very cores that we were to be Decepticons and fight the Autobots, simply because we were told to. When it came to be my turn to swear my loyalty, I hesitated. I was scared, nervous about this world that I hadn't been given a chance to understand. I still haven't been given that chance. Later, after everybody had sworn loyalty and it was just the gestalt, Motormaster turned on me, yelled at me for even pausing to think about if I wanted to be a Decepticon. He didn't see it as being created without a choice – he still doesn't. In Motormaster's mind, things are the way they are because that's how we were created. We all had been given our set roles in life, and he liked how everything was set, laid out ahead of time so we didn't need to worry ourselves over the politics of it all; we could get straight to the fighting. I think what he liked the most was that it was in his programming to be the leader, and in our programming to acknowledge that and follow him. His favorite thing is being the boss, and the Decepticons let him do that. And they let him handle things amongst the gestalt how he sees fit, even if that includes beating on me daily."
Breakdown was surprised at how...free he felt. Never before had he told anyone that, never, and here was the innocent little Autobot hanging on his every word with sympathetic optics. The Lambo wasn't used to having a good listener, and said as much.
"Everyone says you don't shut up, but you're a surprisingly good listener."
Fireflight's faceplates heated with pride. "Really? Thanks! I mean, I know I babble like Blue sometimes, but I think, 'If I talk everyone's audios off all day, I might as well be able to return the favor.' But nobody ever gives me the chance. Thanks, for that. So Motormaster really beat you?" The ex-Decepticon nodded. "I've heard stories, but you know rumors – they're fun and interesting, but you can't trust them as far as you can throw them. Does that even make sense? It's a human saying, but I don't really get it. They have weird little sayings, humans, but they're kind of fun."
He would have continued like that if Breakdown hadn't begun chuckling. "I think that's why I felt okay with talking to you, kid. Besides my self-help book telling me to, I mean. You're young and you act it. None of that faking and pretending you find with everyone else, puffing themselves up like they're the toughest mechs you'll ever meet. It's all a joke, a façade. What I don't get is, why would you wantto be a warrior who never got a chance to be a youngling? Don't you hate it, how everyone likes to pretend that they have no emotions, that they aren't curious about the world, that they understand everything even if they don't? Who are we trying to impress, the rest of the factions? Our brothers? Ourselves? I think I like that about you kid, how you don't make that effort to be something you're not. You're just...you. It's refreshing."
The Aerialbot couldn't help the beaming grin on his faceplates. To him, Breakdown felt like his first real friend who wasn't one of his brothers. Who knew a 'Con could be so nice? But wait, he'd said he had left them. Could he make his new friend come to the Autobots? He was sure they would take him in. Maybe he could try, but he would have to wait and play his cards right. Right now, he really wanted to know more about something Breakdown had said.
"You were never allowed to be younglings? But, I mean, you all are younglings, in a way."
"Don't I know it. They created us as adults, so they expect us to be adults, in all meanings of the word. We may be physically, and maybe even mentally, but emotionally? Pit no. We are so clueless about everything: Earth, Cybertron, Cybertronians as a whole. Relationships with each other and others, who you respect and who you shun, how to tell when you're being messed with, how to make split second decisions. They expect us to get everything right the first time, and they forget that we're still practically younglings at spark, literally, as much as I hate to admit it."
"Wow," Fireflight muttered. "That sucks."
"Excuse me?" Breakdown turned to look at his companion with a raised optical ridge.
"Sorry, it's a phrase I heard some humans use."
Breakdown grunted, but said nothing. The two sat in a companionable silence for a long while, before Breakdown asked a question that had been bothering him since the beginning of their conversation.
"So what were you and your brothers fighting about?"
"They were yelling at me for messing up during flight practice, as always. I tried to say I was sorry, but they just kept on going, telling me that I always mess up, that I can't do anything right. I hate it, how they do that all the time. I swear I think every one of our practices ends that way. Every time, I mess up, and they yell at me, and most times it ends with me leaving and telling them that I'm running away for good. But I always get afraid after I've left. I worry about what I'll do with myself, where I'll go, what I'll eat, and I start to feel less angry with them, and I go back. But Slingshot said that I always give up and I can't follow through on my word, so I decided that this time I'm doing what I always set out to do. I'm not going back this time until those afts come and drag me back themselves."
He gave his speech of sorts with a sense of determination that had nothing juvenile about it. Breakdown felt oddly proud of him for that. Here was another mech, in a way mistreated by his gestalt, who decided to do something about it, even if Fireflight's situation was nowhere near as bad as his own.
"So you're a runaway too, huh?" Breakdown asked, though he knew the answer.
"Yep, I guess so. Though I don't think I've left the Autobots. I don't really want to. They're nice; most times, even verbal sparring gets you in trouble if you aren't careful. Optimus and the rest would never let anyone hurt us out of battle, especially not our own faction." There was an underlying statement there, and they both knew it.
"I thought about it, kid, I really did, but I just can't see myself as an Autobot. The rest of the 'Cons call me a wimp, tell me I'm too soft to be a 'Con, and I think that maybe they're right. If thinking for myself and understanding that violence isn't necessary for everything is being soft, then I think I'd rather be soft on my own than part of something I don't completely believe in with others. But I'm definitely not Autobot material, kid. I'm too angry about things, too quick to violence to protect myself. It's been drummed into me, kid, and I don't think I could change enough to be acceptable to your faction, nor do I really want to change. Plus I can't stand those little squishies you guys are always carrying on about. Those things with their little beady eyes, staring at me...ugh, I hate them."
Fireflight frowned slightly. Humans weren't that bad, were they? Then again, he wasn't paranoid, so maybe he just didn't get it. But still, a lot of Autobots were violent in their own ways. "Some of the Autobots fight a lot. The twins are always roughhousing and the minibots spar with each other a lot."
Breakdown scoffed at that. "I don't think play-fighting counts, kid. When I said quick to violence, I mean that other 'Cons will try to kill you, and you'll try to kill them in defense, or just because you're pissed off. Compared with the rest of the universe, the 'Cons' way of life is pretty twisted. I don't think I could just integrate so easily when it's in my core programming to be a 'Con."
"Oh." Fireflight looked down, saddened optics staring at the grass-covered ground. "I was hoping you might be able to join, 'cause then you could be my friend."
Oh Primus, here were those mushy little feelings that all Decepticons tried to pretend they didn't have. Even though Breakdown had decided he was no longer a Decepticon, he still wasn't so good at all of this friendship-talk, even if the idea was sweet.
"I'm sure you've got plenty of friends, kid."
"Yeah right, they only tolerate me because they need me to make Superion. I overheard some of the officers wondering if they should keep me restricted to base outside of combat because they think I'm a danger to myself and others. And stop calling me kid!"
Breakdown couldn't hold back the laugh that burst forth. "Bonecrusher kept calling me kid; I guess it rubbed off. I don't know, I kind of like it for you. It suits you, like a nickname. I think I'll keep it." Fireflight groaned, but was smiling all the while.
They were silent once more, but the quiet was comfortable and relaxing, forming naturally between the two should-be enemies. It was shattered by the harsh whine and rumble of a series of powerful jet engines racing towards them.
"Well, slag, the cavalry has arrived, as it were. It was nice talking to you, kid." Breakdown began to stand, finding himself somewhat reluctant and remorseful that he had to leave his new "friend," as Fireflight had dubbed their odd "relationship." But his brothers were sure to rip the Lamborghini apart, and Breakdown liked himself completely intact, thank you very much. He had enough instances of his own gestalt ripping into him; he didn't need the Autobots' ever-so-kind assistance in that venture.
"You can't just leave!" Fireflight cried in dismay, standing as well. "Not now! I mean, they won't hurt you, I promise. Just let me talk to them, I'm sure they'll be fine." His voice cracked and he looked at Breakdown with wide, sad optics. "Please. You're the only one who's listened to me before. You're my only real friend. Please, please don't go."
In his CPU, Breakdown was groaning. Oh, come on! This was not fair! He was being given a sad, pouty stare from a youngling jet with big, pleading optics and a lower lip that jutted out in misery and by Primus this just wasn't fair! How was he supposed to say no when the kid was being so sweet and looking so crestfallen and had been his first real "friend" too? Ugh, why did these things always happen to him?
The Lamborghini threw his head back and stared at the sun for a while, wondering if he could burn his optics out by doing so, before looking back at Fireflight and sighing in defeat as his optics tried to readjust, sending colorful splotches across his vision.
"Fine, but if they start getting growly with me I'm out of here."
Fireflight giggled. "Getting growly with you?"
"Eh, I think it was something Wildrider said once." He sighed in remembrance. Had Wildrider really been that bad? He was insane, that was a sure fact, but he hadn't been enough of a schemer to plan an attack on Breakdown, making him a little more trusted. But he was often unpredictable and violence came so naturally to him he wouldn't notice if he hurt one of his "brothers." Yet still Breakdown noticed how Wildrider shared Fireflight's curious, childish nature, his wonder and enthusiasm for life. Insanity aside, how different were they, really?
He would have pondered this more, but the sound of jets landing and transforming drew him from his mind. And, of course, those sounds were soon followed by weapons powering up.
"Get away from him, Decepticon freak!" shouted one of them – Breakdown didn't care to even check who it was, but at a guess from the voice he would say Air Raid.
"Leave him alone!" Fireflight shouted in reply, stepping forward as if to defend his new friend. Breakdown almost smiled at how futile that small attempt would be if his brothers did try to attack him.
The obvious gestalt leader, Silverbolt if his memory chips were correct, stepped forward, though his expression was taken aback. "Flight," he began. "That is a Decepticon. I don't care what he told you, but he's not your friend."
The "younger" jet looked at him petulantly. "He is my friend, I'll have you know. And he's not a Decepticon – he left them."
One of the jets snorted through his vents; with narrowed optics Breakdown recognized a Harrier jet alt mode, making him Slingshot. "He's a 'Con, Flight. 'Cons lie. A lot. As in, he lied."
"Did not," Breakdown muttered, not caring how childish he sounded.
The Aerialbots only scowled in response.
"What? I didn't. I'm just telling the truth. Primus, you'd think the Autobots would appreciate that, wouldn't you, kid?" He turned to Fireflight as he asked the question; said jet smiled, making his brothers' frowns deepen.
"Fireflight," Silverbolt said in a loud manner that Breakdown supposed he intended to be commanding. "Step away from the Decepticon and come home with us. Whatever he told you was a lie. Let's just go home and forget what happened, okay?"
The Phantom model shook his helm. "No, I'm not going back just because you snapped your fingers."
"Not nearly enough dragging involved." Breakdown shook his head as if this was a shame. Fireflight chuckled softly at his antics.
Slingshot growled and took a step forward. "Flight, come on! He's lying to you – he's not your friend, okay? Now move so we can go home!"
Fireflight raised an optical ridge. "Real enticing there, Sling. Way to show me that you feel sorry for what you did."
The other jets groaned as one. Skydive tried to reason with him. "Fireflight, you know we're sorry. You can feel it over the bond. We're sorry for what we said, and we came out here so we could all go home together."
The young jet's resolve began to crumble at his levelheaded brother's pleading look, but didn't get a chance to reply as the harsh grumble of engines pierced the atmosphere. Four vehicles came over the horizon at speeds that no human machine could reach. The cars were paid no attention by Breakdown, who only had optics for the large tractor-trailer that was heading the group.
"Frag," he whispered. With terrified optics, Breakdown spun on his pede and looked for a place to hide, but the rest of his gestalt were approaching from the way he had come into the area, and the hilly countryside was blocking all other exits for a grounder such as himself. "I gotta get out of here!"
But there was no way for him to leave. He was trapped with his new friend, his friend's brothers who wanted to kill him, and his own "brothers" who wanted his spark on a pike.
He was trapped, and he was going to die.
Before he could move, two of the jets were on him, Air Raid and Slingshot if he guessed correctly. The pair threw him to the ground and stood over him with guns pressed to his helm.
Yep, he was going to die, and they were all going to stare at him while it happened. This was like a scene from his nightmares. Couldn't they offline their optics, at least?
Motormaster rushed into the small clearing of sorts, his brothers right behind him. It was a good feeling, knowing that you were being backed up. A sense of triumph washed over him as he saw Breakdown; the emotion had probably filtered over the bond from Drag Strip, who was feeling quite smug with himself though he had done no more than his brothers in finding Breakdown.
It was with a bit of unhappiness that he noticed that absolutely petrified look in Breakdown's optics as his helm spun in search of an escape, unconsciously stepping closer to the Aerialbot, Fireflight.
Motormaster growled at that. What the slag were these Autoscum doing near his brother, and why in Primus' name was Breakdown looking to them for fragging comfort? Oh, if they were thinking of recruiting one of his brothers then they had another thing coming. Motormaster wasn't called a ferocious and possessive slagger for nothing.
All of the Stunticons threw themselves forward when two of the Aerialbots hit Breakdown to the ground and aimed their weapons on him. This was not acceptable at all. And why in the slag wasn't Breakdown fighting back? He just laid there, looking up at the Autobots with terror-filled optics as if he had already given up hope.
Motormaster glared at the mechs holding down his brother and let out a truly furious snarl that shook all present.
Breakdown shuddered in fear when Motormaster roared in anger. Oh great, he was angry, it always hurt more when he was angry. The Lamborghini curled up and awaited his end before he froze.
What was he doing? Had he not decided to no longer play the victim? Why was he cowering in fear when he had decided to fight back?
With a growl of his own Breakdown swiped away one of the guns, sending it a good ten yards away. He quickly rolled out of the other weapon's aim and jumped to a standing position, sidestepping the jet as it tried to turn to get a fix on him again.
He never noticed the looks of pride in his brothers' optics.
Wildrider cackled in glee as his brother showed up the Autobots. When Breakdown was under no real threat any longer he called to his brother, "Come on, Breaks, let's get out of here!" He had meant it in all innocence, and had naively assumed that his brother would just come with them.
"Yeah, Decepticon, go running back to the rest," sneered Slingshot.
Breakdown's optics narrowed to slits in his anger, once again unconsciously moving closer to Fireflight as if he would protect him. He'd had enough.
"Listen up you fraggers, 'cause I ain't saying it again!" Primus, why did he sound like Bonecrusher when he was kicking aft and taking names? "I am not trying to hurt Fireflight, nor is he trying to hurt me. We were talking, shocking as that might be for illiterate slaggers such as yourselves who can't contemplate any sort of interaction with the "enemy" past injuring one another. I am here because I have left the Decepticons, and I just want to be left the slag alone, got it? All of you, just leave me alone!"
Fireflight shot him a look, and he muttered quietly to him, "You know what I mean, kid." The jet gave him a relieved smile.
Wildrider had a hurt look in his optics. Breakdown left the 'Cons? He couldn't do that, because they were Decepticons, and that would mean that he had left them, which he couldn't do because 'Rider couldn't be whole without all of his brothers, couldn't think straight. Things in his mind got hectic without all of his brothers there to make it better, and he wanted Breakdown's paranoid, soothing little presence back in his CPU right now, slaggit!
"Breaks," he said in a somewhat delirious manner. "You're kidding right? I mean, you don't have to be a Decepticon, but you're still a Stunticon, of course. Right?"
Breakdown found that he couldn't look the other in the optic as he made his declaration.
"No. I'm not a Stunticon. I'm not one of you, not after what you've done to me. I am not going to be a victim to any of you any longer."
I felt bad being mean to Wildrider, he is one of my favorites. Ah well, things will be better for him soon. Only about a chapter left, maybe an epilogue. Please review!