The vehicons struggle with being disregarded canon fodder- some struggle more than others.
Breakdown takes a few steps forward and a few steps back.
AN- First segment is a flashback.
It had taken Starscream to get him out. Starscream, acting against Megatron's orders, and autobots, being their usual soft-sparked selves.
Of course, Knock Out had gotten right to work on his poor partner. Optic- gone. A jagged cut lining down the chestplate- there, and driving the medic crazy with its unevenness.
Repairs had to be done immediately. And, as he always did, Knock Out worked reassuringly. The pain receptors, which the humans had disabled, stayed off because of the medic's decision. He said he didn't want his partner to have to feel any of the welds or discomfort. Obviously, he'd 'been through enough'.
And then the red mech had ushered him to the nurse's joint room and gently forced him to the berth so that he could 'rest'. The promise of new polish and a vial of Knock Out's additive rich contraband energon lay in the air for the cycle he would awake to.
But Breakdown didn't fall into recharge.
He hadn't wanted to recharge.
The berth made him think of being strapped down under the scalpels and drills. The empty room reminded him of how impersonal every faceless human was as they cut him open.
He had wanted to talk about anything, everything, that had happened that night. He needed to speak and listen to process it.
But Knock Out was gone.
Knock Out had not once stopped any of his repairs or comforts or pampering to listen.
The vehicons tended to take their energon in one of three lower level recreation rooms. Here, they could speak a little louder, act a little livelier. Every time they met familiar faces (so to speak), it let them think, for one moment, they were not...
Well. Expendable.
That they and their fellow expendables were able to get their glasses, tell their stories, even fall into extra recharge if that's what they needed.
From the outside, they looked identical.
Among each other, they were able to identify their friends by personal quirks or maybe an uncovered scar.
XL-2M99 stood out amongst the rest because of one simple stripe.
It wasn't even the warped scarring on his face. It was the glyph on his left shoulder. It was the stark color contrast with vehicon purple.
The glyph may have been only a quarter the size of his burn scar, but it was far more distinct.
Colors were not allowed among the vehicon troops. Not unless it was to signify a special position.
Like being a medic.
He didn't like the extra attention but it was unavoidable. Entering meant drawing optics.
Thankfully, there was one vehicon here who did not mind the extra attention. One that seemed to have insisted on filling the hole XL-8K9C's absence left.
XL-3T09 swept his arm almost the moment he walked into the room. His visor, V-shaped and overbright, was different than XL-2M99's own. He had been constructed miner class, after all. His faceplates should have been the same as every other miner.
In the course of one Earth day, that had been ripped away from him.
"You know," XL-3T09 pulled them both against one table to let another group of vehicons by and then steered them on as if the interruption had never happened. "I would love to get half the looks you do."
They'd been over this before.
"Is that your reason for attaching yourself to my hip?" the medic asked dryly.
If he believed it was, he'd have stopped letting the flyer get near him.
An empty table sat near the energon dispensers. XL-3T09 let the other's arm go and both sat down.
"Listen-"
The flyer's voice had dropped down to a tone XL-2M99 classified as 'conspiratorial'.
"Some of us have actually been thinking about that. We want to star-"
Whatever he planned to say cut off at the sound of the door opening.
All the vehicon talk in the recreation room cut off, in fact.
There was no reason to look too lively in front of a commanding officer (they could start getting ideas about vehicons rebelling against their purpose as mindless drones). And silhouetting the doorway stood the second in command of the Nemesis.
They waited as one for the commander to speak. To tell them what mission was here now.
Dreadwing took a few uncertain steps in and still did not order a squadron to him.
Seemingly noticing the abnormal quiet, the seeker waved one large arm.
"Carry on," he ordered simply.
Somehow, XL-2M99 knew that it was him that the commander was heading to.
Under the table, XL-3T09 tapped his pede with his own. The flyer leaned in over the table to whisper without Dreadwing or any other hearing.
"You've got a fan," he teased. XL-2M99 felt that the socially accepted response would be to slap him. He didn't.
No matter if it was a tease or not, XL-3T09 was right. Dreadwing crossed the room and took a seat. The environment of the recreation center returned to a low, stilted energy. The officer did not seem to realize this faux, tamed speaking was unnatural for those taking their energon here. In truth, the only officer who would be able to notice that had been Breakdown; simply because, over time, the vehicons had stopped going politely subdued when he would arrive to socialize.
It was XL-3T09 who spoke first; he turned in his seat and spread both arms wide.
"Commander Dreadwing! What brings you here to us?"
Lesser commanders had killed for such impertinence. XL-2M99 mirrored his friend's earlier action and kicked the flyer. He didn't need XL-3T09 to fight his battles for him! Not that facing the commander was a battle. They may still, to use the human expression, 'walk on eggshells' (eggs being an organic concept that he would forever wish he hadn't learned about) when speaking to each other, but the vitriol of days gone by was gone.
It was hard to hate the one officer actively seeking out his fellow vehicons.
"I merely wish to update the doctor about current progress in our mission."
Behind Dreadwing's field of vision, XL-3T09 made an exagerated motion used in alternative to the roll of two seperate optics. XL-2M99 felt the need to kick him again. Someday, this carefree, attention seeking attitude would get him killed.
The seeker did not notice any of this. He was a remarkably oblivious mech; not because of stupidity, but rather his focus remaining steady on one task. It was commendable- though not a good trait in a second in command. Starscream had always been a good 2IC because of how he could balance many details at once.
On the brighter side, Dreadwing respected their kind far more than Starscream or Airachnid had.
Even if he likely would only hold the position for a short time.
XL-2M99 tried to contain the pang of unwanted worry that thought brought.
As the chief medical professional (or rather, the only slightly medically knowledgeable mech on the ship) of the Nemesis, he did not like the idea of trying to repair fatal wounds. Especially not those dealt by their leader himself.
"I have asked Soundwave to trace whatever trail these humans have left," Dreadwing continued, "As it is not his first priority, I may not learn of where this M.E.C.H. is doing these desecrations, nor where they are keeping their prisoners, for multiple cycles."
XL-3T09 had gone quiet. That was odd of him.
Then the flyer piped up in a more subdued voice of surprise. "Soundwave? The Soundwave? Helping find humans? Find-" he cast his glance between the two and the crowds of vehicons beyond their table. "-find the rest of us?"
As if only now noticing, Dreadwing nodded at the XL-3T09.
"It is so."
As impressive as it was to hear that the infamous spymaster was going to be helping find the monsters (and he no doubt would- that infamy came from a very real ledger), every cycle that passed made XL-2M99 believe the mission was foolish.
They couldn't still be alive.
It hurt to think it, but he had to face that truth-
He had to brace against it.
With nothing to say, the table went quiet. He would not say 'thank you' or some other planitude. In their absence, the sad excuses for lively conversation filled the silence.
"If you do not mind me asking," the officer spoke up again.
The entire room went far more still as they waited for his question.
"How did you meet him?" Dreadwing finally asked. Both XL-2M99 and XL-3T09 shared a glance. He was uneasy about the question and it seemed his flyer friend was as well.
"Your brother," the officer continued when no answer came, "XL-8K9C?"
This word Dreadwing always tossed about-
XL-2M99 could not understand it.
"He was not my brother," the medic replied flatly.
'Brother' implied a split spark connection.
No vehicon had that connection. Their fractured sparks, created by scientists that had continued to split sparks in order to animate a faceless army of protoforms, could not hold such a bond.
"...We met here. In the rec rooms. He was-he is a friendly mech. Not picky about who he spends time with. Very honest with himself and the rest of us." XL-2M99 looked away. "He's left many friends behind here. We all miss him."
With that mood killer delivered, all three went silent. Finally, Dreadwing seemed at a loss to say anything else and rose.
"When Soundwave tracks their location, rest assured I will fly there immediately. I will bring our brethren back," he swore, once again.
The cynical part of XL-2M99 wanted to pick on the sheer amount of promises Dreadwing kept making.
The rest of him was caught on the phrasing the officer had used-
Our brethren
Our, our, our-
Officer's did not insinuate they were on the same sentient level as vehicons. They certainly did not insinuate that vehicons were on their level. The only one to do so in XL-2M99's memory had been Breakdown; and he had been rather low ranking among the con leadership. Certainly not the 2IC.
There was no other way to take that wording.
He was reeling, even as Dreadwing stood awaiting a response and finally gave up on getting one. While the seeker was still trudging for the door, XL-2M99 forced himself back to the present. The door slid shut and a good four clicks later, the vehicons had returned to their lively selves. He couldn't help but wonder how Dreadwing would react to the true rec room environment. That was neither here nor there. XL-2M99 leaned forward and brought XL-3T09's attention back.
"What were you telling me earlier?" he asked, trying his best to bring his interest back to that former conversation.
The other perked up again.
"Oh!" XL-3T09 returned to a perkier voice, before letting it fall into that same conspiratorial tone. "Some of us were thinking. You know how you feel with that glyph on your paint? It makes you.." his voice dropped even further " -elevated. Like you're one of them. Haven't you noticed? The forged mechs are treating you no differently than they treat each other."
XL-2M99 wasn't sure he liked where this was going. He didn't like to think of himself as-as-'elevated', or anything! He was still a vehicon at spark. He didn't want to be anything else.
He didn't want their stares when he walked into the rec room- stares almost like those they offered Dreadwing or any other commander; mixed with wonder and envy.
"We've wanted that for all our lives. A chance to be seen as more than- than- canon fodder!" XL-3T09's visor had brightened with excitement. He looked overcharged. The medic found himself leaning back.
"What?" he stammered. It made the flyer laugh.
"Come on. You know you used to feel it too. And what changed it for you? That-" he stabbed a finger on the medical glyph. "So we want something too. Not a painted symbol, that'll draw all the attention from the forged. But something we can share with those we trust, use amongst each other only; keep it under wraps around the officers but hold onto in our sparks because it could make us someone rather than an unimportant piece in a matched set."
The idea did make something in his spark swell.
Not that he would need it; not when he was what he was now.
"What are you thinking?" XL-2M99 whispered back, interest piqued.
The flyer's wings hiked higher on his back at the enthused response.
"Names," he answered, "Just for us. Not some batch of numbers and letters. Nicknames, the word could be, that only some of us would know."
Maybe to an outsider, it wouldn't seem like much.
But even as the ship's medic, XL-2M99 still remembered what it was like to be just another drone.
For a flashy mech like XL-3T09, the appeal of a name had to be strong. He himself didn't feel comfortable with choosing a designation. Not yet, at least.
"That sounds...exciting," he replied.
Somehow the purple wings rose even more.
"But why did you cut off when he came in? It hardly seemed like something you needed to close off over." XL-2M99 asked.
XL-3T09 scoffed. "He's a forged mech and the 2IC of this army. One whiff of this, he'll start screaming 'rebellion' and then we'll all answer to Lord Megatron."
That did seem rather likely when it came to the forged mech's in the officer ranks of the decepticon army. The last one to not care about such things was Breakdown, and that mech had deserted their ranks.
Although- XL-2M99 thought of the amusement on Megatron's face when he had volunteered as the interim medic.
A miner stepping out of his class. Alright then
Still, no matter how amusing that had seemed to him, there was still no doubt that their leader would grow angry at anything that could be misconceived as a 'rebellion'.
The medic glanced at the door Dreadwing had departed through.
"He doesn't seem that bad."
After a little incident regarding a now traumatized human with road rage, Smokescreen was the latest probationary autobot. The new mech may have worn the Elite Guard brand, but he was about as green as they came.
Now, instead of making the kid read any of the tablets Knock Out'd had to pour over, the Prime had sent Smokescreen off with Jack Darby to learn human rules.
Said human teen had been panicking over his missing parent every time Breakdown had seen him that day.
But surely sending the panicked teen out with the rookie who'd already broke the whole 'robots in disguise' thing within the first day he was here could never go wrong.
Meh. Wasn't really Breakdown's problem to deal with.
The autobot base was a mess in more ways than just that, however. The senior medic was grumpier than usual. Something to do with the human nurse dropping off contact and Wheeljack deciding to go solo again because:
"The base is really gettin' too crowded"
(Breakdown couldn't exactly blame the wrecker; the place couldn't fit so many bots comfortably even before Smokescreen showed up)
The only problem he needed to be mulling over was regarding himself.
Breakdown was lost.
He didn't know what he was doing or who he was doing anything for. The recent resurgence of M.E.C.H. did not help him relax enough to really think about anything.
They were supposed to be dead.
He'd stomped Silas to paste. There wasn't supposed to be anymore after that.
The bad fluxes were supposed to stop.
They hadn't. They'd all returned when M.E.C.H. itself had.
Seeing the remains of their little puppet projects yesterday had not helped his mental state. Was that what they'd planned on doing to him? Breakdown wanted to shake from the idea of it, and such a reaction disgusted him.
He'd tried to destroy what he saw of M.E.C.H. there, but the others hadn't let him. Apparently, crushing Tox-En was a mistake (though so was bridging it: which was why the stuff was all still exactly where it had been yesterday, sitting under tarps in some destroyed facility).
It was stifling to be told to stop.
But there wasn't much he could do to ignore an order.
Breakdown shook the thoughts away when he heard a mech climb out of the lift. Currently, he was sitting on top of the desert plateau the bot base was built in. It was better than being in the base while Miko acted weirder than usual and Ratchet was snapping at everyone and the whole place was too crowded for comfort.
The bot that slid down by his side was comfortingly familiar.
But somehow, Breakdown didn't feel all that comforted.
"You alright up here?" the red medic asked.
Why would he ask? Why was he always being so touchy-feely these cycles? Or at least since Airachnid had almost killed him. The last time Knock Out had gotten so clingy was in the immediate aftermath of leaving the Stunticons.
"Fine," Breakdown answered shortly.
That didn't seem satisfactory.
"Are you sure?" the medic pressed. "You've seemed out of sorts since we went to deal with M.E.C.H."
"I said I'm fine."
This time, Breakdown could almost feel the disapproval radiating from the other.
"Really." Knock Out frowned. "Tell me. Stop hiding things from me."
Hiding things? Really? Says the mech who hid a desire to join the enemy for who knew how long.
Breakdown didn't let any of that slip.
"Just don't like them," the big mech grunted.
Them had many interpretations here.
This time, Knock Out seemed to find the correct one easily.
"M.E.C.H.?"
Strapped down, fighting restraints that just wouldn't budge and pride so smashed but still breathing and panic rising with every new plate taken off-
"We'll get them!" the medic reassured and slapped his shoulder lightly. "I mean, do you really think Optimus would let them get away? M.E.C.H. won't be a problem for us forever."
Glad he thought so. Breakdown grunted again.
"Humans are his precious pets," he contested.
Although...
Although Prime had sent his team out to face off against the humans in Russia just to get him, a singular decepticon, to safety.
It didn't make sense. There was probably a reason for it far more tactical than just some sappy rescue. No way Bulkhead would be up for that.
...one of these days and his curiosity was going to demand he go ask the wrecker the real reason.
It was more than L-...it was more than Megatron was going to do. And when he'd gotten back, faced the disapproval, near disappointment even, from his former master...it had made him ache inside. Failure was written in big sloppy letters all over him and Breakdown had felt the need to keep them there.
The patch was a reminder of his failure. Of the disapproval on Megatron's face at seeing him return in the state he'd been in.
It seemed that Bumblebee had carved deep with that singular conversation they'd had.
It felt shallow now. Why ruin his vision so that he always felt bad about himself?
That seemed like the sort of scrap Knock Out had said they'd left the Stunticons over.
Starscream had asked him to remember that day when it came time to pick sides.
Maybe. Maybe picking the one who had come to rescue him, no questions asked or favors demanded, really was the right choice to have made. Maybe Knock Out had considered that day when deciding to defect.
Why bother with maybes? Of course he did. He always put Breakdown's best interests in mind. Even when Breakdown himself didn't realize them yet.
"You're right," he turned and faced Knock Out. The sudden change in mood made the medic's face go blank for a moment.
"I-...well, of course I am, but what about?"
That confidence was laughably familiar. Breakdown almost did laugh. He was feeling high with relief.
Somewhere, beneath all his weirdness of the last few Earth months, Knock Out was still the same old Knock Out. What had Breakdown been thinking?
"They are going to go down," the blue mech swore, "You and I, we're going to tear them down. And you're right; the rest of this team are gonna back us up while we crush these squishies for good."
Knock Out's smile was dangerous and captivating.
"That's the spirit!"
And Breakdown, in that moment of captivation, couldn't remember why he had ever lost that spirit.
