A/N: I have the next Chapter of "Angel with a Shotgun". Yay. So, these next few Chapters will be sort of like...flashback Chapters. Which means you finally learn a bit about Delta. Finally, right? So, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any shape or form. I only own the story and any and all OCs in said story. If there's someone you're not familiar with, it's probably an OC.
PLEASE COMMENT! I NEED CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM TO MAKE MY STORIES (PRESENT, FUTURE, OR OTHERWISE) BETTER!
He rushes through the traffic, ignoring the horns blaring, ignoring the angry shouts. He couldn't believe he was late. Of all days to be late, it had to be today?!
He'd had to deal with a few fights between bots, then there was the paperwork, then his captain had to talk to him about something and then he got caught up in something with his coworkers, and-
He blasts through another intersections, tires screeching around him as Mechs try to keep from colliding with him, or each other. Not that they could do anything about him going way over the speed limit, with his Enforcer decals and his emergency lights flashing as his sirens and horn blare at anyone in his way.
Fraggit, she was going to kill him!
After what feels like an eternity, he finally makes it. He slams on his brakes and screeches to a stop, dark marks marring the pavement underneath him. Transforming in a flurry of movement, he runs to the entrance, swinging the doors open and moving into the hospital. Seeing the front desk, he goes over, fans struggling to cool his frame.
The receptionist is initially startled at his dark plating and red optics, but that fades at his frantic expression. And the Enforcer decals on his armor.
"Can I help-"
"A femme came in here earlier—name's Dawnstrike. Turquoise, gold, and bronze. She's my Sparkmate. Do you know where she is?"
The receptionist blinks at the gruff voice. "Oh, yes. I believe a Femme came in earlier fitting that description. Let's see…yes, room 237. Up the stairs and halfway down the hall to your…left."
He rushes away, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. He races down the hallway, skidding to a stop outside of room 237. He grabs the handle, throwing open the door and moving in.
"Dawn! Primus, I am so sorry, I-" he stops, chest heaving as his optics widen.
The femme looks up, tired but happy.
"'Bout time you showed up, Barricade."
Time freezes.
She smiles.
"Well, don't just stand there—come meet your son."
He forces himself to move. He was moving, right? Was he even venting? He couldn't tell. All he was focused on was that his beautiful Sparkmate was there, holding a new life in her arms.
The tiny Mechling was just that. Tiny. His main color is that vibrant turquoise that was his Carrier's paint, with pure white on his stomach plating, shoulders, and kneepads, and bright, sandy gold on his forearms, shins, and chest. Tiny winged audios twitch every once in a while, as he vents, fast asleep.
He lifts a clawed servo, gently placing a digit on the tiny turquoise chest. There's the fluttering of a tiny sparkbeat. Then, those optics slowly blink open, revealing bright, molten amber.
He lets out a startled laugh. He had a son…
"H-Hey there, little Mech. I'm your papa."