"—and then I woke up, and I thought it had all been a nightmare, but it hadn't and…" Spike's throat closes with a mix of disgust and fear and the same betrayal making his hands tremble, so he closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths, focusing on the warmth of the mug in his hands.
Just warm milk, but more than enough.
That, and—
"And you asked to be brought to me." Starscream finishes, voice purposefully neutral, and, without opening his eyes, the human nods. "Why, I still can't fathom."
"I… I couldn't stay with them." The teenager whispers after a moment, peeling his lids open to stare at the soft ripples on the mug's surface, his hands no longer trembling, but still shivering as he remembers—and quickly pushes away—the events in the storage room.
In the torture room.
"You knew things would be different." The Seeker points out after a moment, and Spike can only nod before taking a sip of his drink.
It's going cold.
So, the human drains the mug with a couple deep gulps, and hopes the warmth in the ceramic, or whatever it is made of, will last for a while more.
"I didn't know how different it would be." He answers when he's done, finally looking up.
Starscream is in the Repair Bay, reclined against the lifted back of a berth, his damaged side opened up and in the middle of the repair process, but he seems no more bothered by it than any human would a small cut or a bruise, and looking down at where the teenager is curled against his hip, blanket tightly pulled around him, in a strange sort of calming seriousness.
"It's just, Soundwave had been so nice…" He feels compelled to add after a moment, remembering the nest of blankets and pillows, and being hold with the same care the boy would a newborn kitten. "And Megatron had been… not nice, but… well, nice. Not the same kind of nice, though, it was more like…"
"Respect. Equality." Starscream supplies, attracting the human's attention and, after a moment to process the words, receiving a nod. "Yes, that's Megatron, alright. The philosopher. The idealist. But, you forget, we are more than just our selves. We are soldiers, warriors. And we must do what is needed to survive, and to have something to live for afterwards."
Spike looks away once more, finally discarding the mug when he realizes it feels colder than his own shaking hands, burying himself further under his blanket.
"I know. But… I guess it's just harder to accept it."
"If it's worth anything, Soundwave hates rummaging around a mech's processor."
The human closes his eyes, pressing tighter against warm metal.
"Frenzy said that too. And I believe him, I believe you, but… I need some time to process things. To… come to terms with… this."
"You won't." Spike looks up at that, startled, but Starscream's gaze is lost in the middle distance. "If you have a spark, a heart, you can never get used to war, deactivation, death. At least, that's what everyone says."
The teenager knows he should be feeling horrified, scared, at those last words and nonchalant shrug and expression accompanying them, but…
He feels numb. Maybe the shock of what he witnessed just hasn't worn off yet.
"But you have?" He asks, voice calm and slightly curious, and the Seeker turns to him with a strange darkness in his optics.
"I have learnt to deal with it."
He doesn't know if he should take it as an answer to his question, of Starscream having learnt how to deal with the horrors of war, or that the Flier has learnt to deal with his getting used to them.
And, right now, he doesn't care.
So, Spike just nods and buries his face in his blanket-covered arms, concentrating on the warm plating against his back and trying not to think.
It's easy, once Hook comes back with the piece he was missing and resumes working on Starscream's shoulder, because, since he's not forced to leave, the boy can watch and, after some minutes, he manages to muster the courage to ask about parts, and actions, and tools, and the Constructicon calmly answers each and every query, not once looking away from his work.
Spike doesn't understand half of what he explains, prompting more questions, but, even then, he's grateful for the distraction.
For the chance to forget the reason of his being here.
And then, Hook touches something he shouldn't and Starscream almost rips his faceplate off with a suddenly clawed servo if the Constructicon hadn't jumped back at the shriek.
"Whoa, sorry, sorry! Here, let me dial down the pain receptors."
"You better." The Seeker hisses, snarling menacingly and fledging his clawed dactyls, while Spike observes with wide eyes and his heart in his throat.
"You know it would be better if I put you in stasis."
"I told you before, and I won't say it again. No. Stasis."
"What was that?" The human finally manages to ask, further calmed down by the almost casual bickering, and the Flier turns to him while holding out a forearm for Hook to insert a cable from his own into an unseen port.
"That was a Constructicon's clumsiness at its fine—Ouch!" The Second in Command jumps a bit in his reclined position as the green mech rips the cable off his port rather abruptly, both exchanging a glare.
"That was the idiocy of Seekers in thinking that using their wings as shields wouldn't be a pain to repair afterwards." Hook returns pompously before turning once more to his task.
"I'd like to see you deal with a surprise attack while having a squishy in your servos."
"No, no, that's not—I meant the claws. Since when do you have claws?" Spike cuts before things can get out of hand, and two startled Decepticons stare at the human in disbelief.
"All Seekers have claws. All Fliers have claws. Doorwingers have claws too." The Constructicon answers after a moment, with Starscream simply nodding at the boy's wide-eyed look. "Which reminds me…"
Once more, medic and Air Commander turn to glare at one another, as if Spike had never appeared in the Repair Bay to begin with.
"No." Starscream deadpans and, to the boy's confusion, Hook nods.
"Very well. Then, the human goes."
"What?! No!" The teenager protests, clinging to the Seeker's hip plating as tightly as he can while looking pleadingly up at the two Cybertronian.
"Yes. Because, if I don't put him in stasis, he's going to thrash around, and that means you'll get squished, or clawed at or pushed down the berth, and since we have orders not to harm you, that means you'll just simply have to be taken away from Starscream if I am to finish his repairs." The green mech explains calmly, almost cheerfully, ignoring the snarl and hissing from the Flier and how the human's face falls.
"But…"
With a huff, the Second in Command leans further against the raised berth and clicks and whirrs something angrily, to which the Constructicon answers with a purred chuckle.
"Now, now, Commander, no need to use such nasty words."
"I can use nasty actions instead, Hook. Don't tempt me."
"Always knew you couldn't resist my charms forever, but wait until I've finished the repairs before 'jumping me', as the humans say. More pleasant that way."
And Spike finds his jaw falling to the table once more, only this time from disbelief and embarrassment rather than the surprise of finding out about the Flier's claws.
After seeing the deadpanned look Starscream gives the Constructicon, though, he forces the words and unasked for images out of his head with a harsh shake.
Decepticons.
It is weird, how the emotions that now accompany that word are fondness and security, rather than fear and anger and disgust, but not truly unpleasant.
Well, as Thundercracker said, he had to get used to it, sooner or later.
"Spike." He startles at hearing his name, immediately looking up at Starscream's serious gaze, and feels cold unease start to pool at the bottom of his stomach. "Hook is going to put me in stasis to finish the repairs. That's… sedation, anesthesia, that kind of thing." The Seeker explains and, after a blink, the boy relaxes with a nod. "You are allowed to stay where you are, but Hook will be busy and won't be able to engage you in conversation. We can call for someone to take care of you in the meantime, or you can recharge."
After a look at the Constructicon, who just gives him a nod, the teenager turns away for a moment, pondering his options.
Though… there really isn't much to think about, as he truly doesn't feel like getting out of the Repair Bay and chancing encountering—some mechs.
"I'll stay."
After another exchange of nods, Spike moves a bit to make himself more comfortable and, even before the soft clicking of the two Decepticons ends, the excitement of the night pulls him into a dreamless sleep.
Mirage pulls at his bonds, but they are too strong, not moving an inch despite the noble's best efforts, and his captor moves closer, clawed servos lifting as the thinnest band of red where a visor should be blazes even brighter, hiding its owner's frame in shadow.
But, as it moves close enough to rest its talons against the captive's helm, the almost white terrified optics of the bond mech finally shed some light on the torturer, and darkness slithers off plating to reveal white and blue and a red insignia even as Soundwave's head is ripped apart, his processor falling in pieces as his face morphs into a dark faceplate, mouth open in a high-pitched scream—
And Spike wakes up with a start and a yelp, the ground vanishing from under him, arms tied up—
With a soft 'oomph', he lands on firm but warm plating, even as the shrieking, which he now recognizes as angry cursing, continues in the background.
He turns around as soon as he wrestles the tied up blanket off himself—and he's starting to seriously consider asking for a sweater to replace it, to avoid any more tangling up in his sleep—and locates the source of the noise immediately when he spots Starscream, once more awake, glaring daggers at an equally annoyed Hook, who is now sporting four scratches on a shoulder plate, though there's no Energon dropping from them.
After his brain processes the scene, Spike finally manages to get his quickened heartbeat and gasped breathing normalized.
"Are you damaged, Squishy?" His handler asks once the human is finally relaxed, managing to almost startle the boy out of his skin, as he had all but forgot about the fact he's sitting on a Cybertronian's servos.
A look up reveals Mixmaster's slightly paler visor and tilted helm, both signs of curiosity, even as the Constructicon moves away from the bickering mechs to put the teenager down on a mostly cleared table.
"Ah, no, no. I'm fine." Spike finally answers after a moment, once he has finally taken stock of all his body parts and found nothing worse than a leg that has fallen asleep and is slowly, and slightly painfully, waking up.
"You don't look fine."
"Just pins and needles." The boy retorts, grimacing, as he softly pats his waking leg, willing it to get its mobility and sensitivity back faster.
"Say what?"
A blink, and, when he looks up at the Decepticon, the human finds him literally scratching his helm with an expression that, despite his mostly unreadable faceplate, clearly conveys his utter bafflement.
"It's a human thing." He explains simply with a wide smile, trying to keep his chuckles quiet. "It's the sensation we get when a limb falls asleep and is waking up. It doesn't really mean we are being poked by pins and needles, it just feels like it."
The Constructicon gives him another look, analyzing him, even as he keeps scratching his helm.
"Sensory recalibration after temporary loss of function… I didn't know humans dealt with that too. But it usually happens after suffering damage. Is it the same with you organics?"
"No, not at all. Usually, it's because we rested weight on the limb while spending some time in the same position."
"You humans are weird." Mixmaster finally retorts after a moment of silence, straightening and crossing his arms against his chest plates with a shake of his helm, though not looking away from Spike.
Used to such answers, both from Autobots and, lately, Decepticons, Spike merely rests his weight on his hands as he leans back on his seating position, and sticks his tongue out at the purple and lime green mech.
The Constructicon tilts his helm again, visor brighter but also paler.
"… Why are you analyzing the Repair Bay's atmosphere now? The base levels of hydrogen-nitrogen-oxygen are still the same, and there have been no releases of any hazardous elements. You wouldn't be here if that had happened."
Tongue still out of his mouth, Spike can only blink in confusion for a couple seconds before sucking it back in with a chocked laugh as the image of a snake finally fills his mind.
"I wasn't testing anything!" He finally manages to answer when he gets his mirth under control, one fist rubbing an eye to get both the results of his nap and his bout of laughter out of the way. "For humans, sticking your tongue out to another is a rude gesture. Usually, it means I don't care, or is used as an insult."
"… You were insulting me?" Mixmaster questions, helm tilting, though there's no heat or anger in his voice, only curiosity.
"You insulted me first saying my species is weird. Plus, you can insult in good humor too. I know even Cybertronian can do that." He retorts, arms crossed against his chest as he straightens self-righteously, and, to his amusement, the Constructicon snorts.
"Now you're even weirder."
"Says the talking cement mixer."
"Well, you got that right." And Spike does a double-take at that, because is the Constructicon agreeing with him? "Human machines are even weirder than humans themselves."
After a moment of silence, the teenager falls on his back laughing, his mirth echoed in the rumbling purr of the Decepticon in front of him, without a care for the fact that this means the mech has 'won' their 'argument'.
When the boy finally recovers, he finds it's his time to be curious as he see Mixmaster staring at his now silent companions, Starscream once more in stasis while laying on his front, with Hook fiddling with the wing socket, the repaired part waiting on a nearby table with some cables connecting it to an unrecognizable machine.
"What happened?" Spike asks softly, and, when the Constructicon at his side looks at him, he merely nods towards the other two.
"Ah, that. All wings are sensitive, with Seeker wings being chief among them. Hook touched something he shouldn't, and the Screaming One jolted out of stasis with battle protocols active to reformat my older brother's faceplate."
"What?!"
"Obviously, Hook evaded the first swipe, and, by then, our dear Air Commander had enough systems active to realize what was going on."
But Spike shakes his head, because he had known the 'doctor' had avoided getting his face scratched with just a look at his damaged shoulder, but that isn't what he was asking for.
"No, no, not that. Hook is your older brother?" He clarifies, and receives a curious look from Mixmaster as the Constructicon leans against the table he's sitting on.
"Well, duh. We're Gestalt, of course we are brothers. Not spark brothers, mind you, but we're still… uh… how do fleshies put it… Ah, right! We're adoptive brothers!" The mechs answers, a fist tapping his opposite palm as realization dawns, before his visor darkens as he tilts his helm. "Though that's not quite it, either. Oh, yeah, that might just be it… You know how some humans would sometimes spend so much time together or be such good friends that they sometimes talk or feel like they're actual brothers?"
A brief memory of yellow and white plating and a tiny car, but, after pushing it away, Spike nods, looking down at the table under his crossed legs.
Bumblebee hadn't been that close, more like a best friend, but, still…
Anyway, one way or another, he does know about what Mixmaster is trying to say, if nothing else because of many a TV show about samurais and soldiers and that kind of 'shield brothers', or whatever they are called, thing.
"We are not that."
And Spike does a double-take again, because he hadn't been expecting to have the explanation denied by the very mech that told him about it.
"I mean, we kind but kind of not are like that, because Gestalts aren't like that at all, but… Alright, the Stunticons? They're brothers because they were created together, and the Combaticons are brothers in arms, but Gestalts… Gestalts are a bit like 'blood brothers', but not in the sense of sharing the creators, but more like… like those in human movies, where individuals fill a cup with a mix of their life fluids and everyone takes a drink of it, taking a piece of the others into themselves, so that they are joined, one, from then on."
The explanation is crude and more than a bit disgusting, but, at the meaning the Decepticon gleams from the somewhat barbaric ritual, Spike's grimace vanishes.
He had never thought about that 'blood-drinking' thing like that, and, to be sincere, he kind of likes the idea of it now.
Not that he'll go around drinking his friends' blood, of course, but the symbolism…
It's oddly beautiful.
"That's what Gestalts are then? A group of people that shared a piece of themselves with each other?" He finally asks, looking up at the Constructicon in curiosity and slight awe, and Mixmaster straightens proudly with a nod.
"And that are forevermore connected by it like real spark brothers are, only tighter, as a Gestalt bond allows instantaneous communication with all the members of the Gestalt rather than only one individual at a time. Like a five or six-way call instead of having to make multiple calls to every integrant of the group."
"That's… amazing."
"Of course, that took a bit to perfect, but Shockwave isn't known as one of the greatest scientists in Cybertron for nothing."
A retort at the tip of his tongue, Spike stills.
Gestalts aren't naturally created, but an invention of Shockwave's.
Yet another weapon in this never-ending war.
Way to sour such a nice idea.
He immediately shakes the thought away, literally, before once more looking up at Mixmaster, who is ignoring the human in favor of watching Hook work.
It's always harder to read mechs with visors than those with optics, basically because he's used to staring at creatures with two eyes instead of one visual band, but the facemask only makes it harder.
And yet, he can see clearly as day that the cement mixer is standing guard over his older brother, mostly in the way he's holding himself and staring more at Starscream than Hook, arms crossed against his chest plates but servos free in case he has to react quickly.
Well, he did say something about the Seeker attacking first and becoming conscious of his own actions later.
Not that he can fault him. If someone was poking at Spike's shoulder painfully enough to wake him from anesthesia, he would also try to get away or get the offending party away instead of asking questions.
And, thinking about questions…
Up until now, Mixmaster has been quite amusing to talk to. So, what if…
"You said Shockwave invented Gestalts?" He asks in his best nonchalant tone, that, to his delight, doesn't raise any suspicion in the Constructicon, if the fact he merely nods without bothering to turn to him is any answer. "Does that mean he's your father?"
Mixmaster's visor reboots. Once. Twice.
And then, he slowly, very slowly, turns towards the widely grinning human.
Any moment now, the hysterical sputtering will begin.
Any moment…
"To think our best guarded secret would be discovered by a squishy…" Mixmaster whispers strangely emotionless, as if too in shock to properly exteriorize his feelings, and so it takes Spike a couple seconds longer than it should to decipher the words.
And their meaning.
"W—What?! Wait a second, Shockwave is your real father?!"
A couple of blinks later, the Constructicon has literally vanished from his sight, and it isn't until he follows the sound of raucous laughter that the human thinks to look at the floor to see the cement mixer rolling around.
"Oh, your f-face! I ca-can't believe you—you actually—!"
"He tricked you." Hook deadpans, immediately attracting Spike's attention. "He tricked you." He repeats when the boy keeps staring, brain completely frozen, before shaking his helm and returning to his work. "Shockwave is not our creator, though he did invent Gestalts."
"Oh. Oh. Right. That's… That's… Okay. I think." He finally whispers, once he has managed to get his brain working again. "Of course he's not your dad. I mean, how could I think that? Crazy, huh?" He asks with some chuckling, looking at where Mixmaster, recovered from his laughing fit, is sitting on the floor, leaning against the table the human is still on.
"Uh huh." The cement mixer agrees with a nod. "I don't think poor Scrapper would have survived having all of us as his real spark brothers."
Silence.
"Wait a second! Scrapper is Shockwave's—Hook! Is he telling the truth? Hook!"
But the medic merely smirks sharply to let him know he has heard, and continues with his work.
AN: For those that read Flowery Cage last week, my apologies, RL decided I wasn't to have any free time to proof-read and post -.-
That aside, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. On the one hand, it's a fluffy one after the whole darkness of the last ones, but on the other... The characters really did whatever they wanted here. So, we have a kind of Prime!Knockout-Prime!Starscream interaction thingy, and Mixmaster's whole... Mixmaster-ishly character, jokes included. Or are they not jokes? ;P (Not telling *muahahaha*)
Either way, I decided to stop hitting myself over the head about it and just out and post it. Otherwise, I would never continue...
Enjoy!
Kinetic Vo: I'm glad you liked last chapter, darkness and pseudo-gore-ish thing included ^^ I hope the fluffiness does as good a job too!