C.M.D: Sorry to everyone who was looking for an update the last couple fridays. I had a surplus of chapters in the beginning but now that my writing has slowed down I'll be going back to my usual update period -on the 14/15 of each month. In either case, I'm happy to drop this here for you all to read and I hope you enjoy some (non-canon) flashbacks scenes!
He couldn't recall the early orns of his existence. They'd started in darkness and most shifts they stayed in it, except for the few times their tiny little asteroid circled into a star's visible path. On those shifts, the sparkling reveled in the warmth of the distant solar rays and the beauty of an outstretching cosmos. If he only had wings... Dust kicked up behind him, drawing the sparkling out of his secret musings and towards its source.
He found his unit mate, Browning, wriggling out from a freshly burrowed hole in the asteroid's surface. "We've got nothing," the pint-sized sparkling spoke over commlink, "Again."
"Finback will not be pleased," an older Decepticon replied, looking over the shorter 'bots. His designation was Borebit and aside from watching over the younger soldiers, he also used his drill in vehicle-mode to perforate the rock base they were posted on to source out materials. Materials desperately needed for the Decepticon cause, as their unit leader Finback always said.
"We've made a thousand little turborat nests at this point," another mech added irritably. Skip was his name, and he'd certainly been online longer than the sparklings, though only by a handful of vorns. "Finback has got to admit that this husk has nothing to provide for us this time 'round. We're burning away rations and energy mining for slag that don't exist!"
Borebit glanced at his comrade, expression unreadable behind his mouthguard. "Be that as it may, until we receive orders, Finback will not abandon our mission."
Browning bounced over to the watching sparkling, dusting himself off irritably. "This is getting stupid, don'tcha think, Wedge?," he asked, switching over to a private frequency.
He wanted to agree but he wasn't sure... Mining was all they did, all he knew how to do, and though the young spark certainly could see that the last hundred shifts had resulted in no finds, he lacked the experience to know if their efforts were all in vain or not.
Skip was kicking up into another tirade over the comms when the astropod's message was hijacked by another one. "Mobilize back to base," came Howlback's crisp command. "Incoming enemy shuttle."
Borebit transformed at once, the other Decepticons clambering to climb on top as the drilltank rolled over the misshapen terrain rapidly. "A-are we really going to fight?!," Browning squeaked nervously, looking towards Skip for answers.
"Of course!," the youngling snapped, shooting a scowl towards the younger soldiers. "Megatron demands we stamp out all Autobot aggressors on sight. No mercy! They'd spare none for us and nor would the defectors or the unaffiliated. You've both practiced enough for this; just stick with Wedge and never take your optics off the enemy."
They were nearing their parked ship, and already Howlback was out of sight. No doubt, the feline minicon had bounded into the craggy hillside once the orders were sent out to find herself a defensible, lil' hidey-hole to ambush the unknown arrivals from. Finback, the disintegrating hovercraft, stood stationed at the gangplank of their ship; a dual-barreled blaster as large as Skip held in one of his old servos. "Took ya rust slugs long 'nuff," the sailor grumbled towards the group, his wheezing vents sending puffs of dust and small rock debris to float off aimlessly into the void of space. "Formation gamma, now! And Browning, ya best keep those sight lines far away from me fins or I'll remodel ya inta my personal waste collector."
Browning squeaked out a promise, while Borebit returned to bidepal mode, taking off to the right of their base alongside Skip. Wedge quietly moved to the left, knowing that the other sparkling was on his heels. The battle-old pistol that the orange soldier pulled out of subspace was still significantly larger than his servo was; heavy between his palms and stained from experiences that Wedge himself had never lived. Only over half of an energon charge was left in the barrel -he'd used a few during the one and only practice session Finback had allowed for- and now he'd have to use the remainder to shoot down Autobot assailants or other unknowns. They'd be lucky if there was enough ammo left among them collectively to survive this raid.
There wasn't time to think about that though. Browning was leaning up against the front-loader's shoulder, holding his own over-sized weapon in shaking fingers. Optics drifting up to the enemy shuttle that had hovered to a stop a mile away, Wedge watched uncertainly as the hangar doors were opened... and the only mech whose name he knew of in all of the Autobot army drifted out...
xXx
"OWW!"
Cupping his helm, Wedge stumbled to the floor, glaring slightly up at the femme as she approached him. "Did you have to hit so hard?!," he demanded, checking his servos for energon, before gingerly feeling out the dent she had made.
Quickshadow quirked an optic ridge at the youngling, resting a servo on a hip as she paused by his side. "Need I remind you that you agreed to these lil' games of... hide and spar," she replied. "If you are going to be distracted, perhaps I should be training you as per my own standard of studies."
The orange youngling cringed a bit. "I thought Blades said no training regimens that could kill me..."
The sports car vented softly in muted ire. "Yes, he did set those parameters," she conceded. "A shame. A proper tutelage would temper you with an arsenal of practical skills, including an improved reaction time, mobility, risk assessment... But I suppose being a bit quicker on the draw is acceptable."
Wedge scowled a bit at the backhanded compliment, before his expression twisted to one of contemplation. "...Professor, were you really an assassin?," he inquired quietly.
Quickshadow shuttered her optics slowly, mumbling something that oddly sounded like "I hate this planet" before facing the triple-changer again. "Yes," she quipped shortly. There was no hesitation nor remorse in her reply and that alarmed the youngling a bit.
Standing up, the recruit looked up at the femme, steeling himself as he continued his questions. "Did... How many Decepticons did you kill?"
"You mean, did I murder any of your past affiliates," she corrected for him. Wedge cringed a second time, found out. The former spy folded her arms over her chestplates, her expression neutral. "I have taken down many Decepticons and Decepticon-sympathizers during the war," she indulged. "And have embarked on more missions than I shall ever share with you, newspark, but no. Borebit and Skip were felled by others, and the closest contact I had with Finback was halting a raid he partook in -the same one that left him sickly after. His condition was not procured by my own actions on that planet."
It felt like his energon lines were filling with ice, leaving Wedge nauseous to his spark. He acknowledged that his old unit were not the best of 'bots at some times, but he'd always hoped that they had made it back to Cybertron like he had and were living new, happier lives than before. Things had deteriorated so quickly after Optimus had first appeared before the construction recruit...Rejecting the Autobot's proposal to join his crew and relocate somewhere safer, they were forced to abandon Megatron's posting as they faced starvation a few decacycles later. Browning was kidnapped by a community of neutrals on an alien planet, never to be seen again. Following that, Finback carried them halfway across an unfamiliar star system before his health turned for the worse. A short burial was held for him before they were moving again. Borebit had guided them to an alien galactic trade hub, in search of a safe haven for forgotten soldiers like themselves, and both him and Skip were promptly separated in an unexpected firefight. Only Howlback was left with him and she had done everything in her power to carry the sparkling and herself back to Cybertron, praying that the rumors of their home world's rebirth were true and that the Prime's promise still held. She was alive back on Cybertron, or so the triple-changer believed, though he couldn't be sure. The minicon had been insistent that Wedge could never see or contact her after they had landed; in her words, it would be easier for him to rejoin a peaceful society if he didn't have a well-known Decepticon soldier tied to his name. He hated that decision even now.
"...w-why... why did you agree to come to Earth?," he mumbled out, unable to find the strength to meet his teacher's gaze this time. "What could a professional murderer have here?"
It was silent for klik, forcing Wedge to glance upwards, just to know if he was alone or not. Quickshadow remained positioned to his right, her face contemplative for once, as she gazed somewhere off across the bunker. "I came because a Prime ordered it," she confessed, her vocalizer unusually soft, "And I stayed... I suppose I'm not really sure. Curiousity, perhaps? The war ending was not a reality I thought I'd actually see. I won't pretend that it is not flummoxing to be ripped off a path you were set to drive down, 'til the orn one's spark snuffs out, but maybe that's the truth Optimus wished for me to see. Certainly this planet is rife with millions of roads -some stunted, some twisting- and changing lanes is always an option. Metaphorically speaking, of course."
Wedge found himself fostering a new respect for the silver Autobot at her blunt honesty. "Humans are pretty great at finding new opportunities," he commented, a smile growing on his cheekplates.
The femme sent the youngling a side-long glance, a hint of a chuckle escaping her. "Yes, they can be very... imaginative. And teaching is an interesting endeavor, depending on the student. Now," she inquired, turning bodily toward the triple-changer, "Are you clear-helmed enough to continue with this exercise or shall I leave you to your daydreams?"
There were still a million or so questions buzzing around his helm, but he'd have time to reflect and pursue the most pressing of them later, Wedge argued. Quickshadow was right; now was a time to learn and become better than he was. This was all part of a future that Howlback and Finback had sacrificed for him to have. Rotating his shoulder joints, the orange recruit grinned up at the waiting sports car, engine warming in preparation. "Ready," he said, eagerly.
xXx
There was a crispness in the breeze that blew by, rousing the youngling from his trance by its chilling touch. Sluggishly, Hot Shot turned his helm about, trying to understand why he'd come outside in the first place. He didn't think it was because of chores... Something else then? As he mused, the multi-changer found his optics being drawn back to the series of training equipment sitting unused across the open field. Hot Shot could almost hear the swinging clank of metal as weights were lifted by roughened servos; nearly make out an orange frame standing a short distance away from the recruit under the sudden glare of sunlight.
A cloud moved in place quickly, driving the illusion back once more, so that the yard was as empty as it had been when the red youngling had intitally stepped outdoors. The realization made his spark putter weakly in its casing; in contrast, hot coolant rising to his optics. Another breeze blew past and this time Hot Shot acknowledged the drop of temperature with a shiver. Earth's most debilitating season, winter, was cropping up on the Academy again. The second-year recruits would be responsible for ensuring the school was weather-worthy for the change and that included cleaning up the training gym and storing all of its equipment away for spring. Storage containers had been left in the yard for such a task... but that was as far as anyone had gotten. No one, not even Hot Shot himself, could bare to close down the gym. Doing so would cement to them all that Wedge was never coming back.
His intakes caught mid-cycle, a servo lifting to the multi-changer's mouth to stifle any sound that might rise. Primus, Hot Shot thought miserably to himself, he was such a monster of a person. What right did he have to be sad over his friend's absence when he was the one to force him to leave to start with! Calling Wedge 'friend' was too much of a liberty as well. Friends didn't act the way that Hot Shot had.
Look at that... Here he was being self-centered again, focusing on his own feelings in this whole tragedy. Real humble, the red youngling hissed to himself quietly. Wiping at his face quickly, Hot Shot rose to his pedes- and ducked back into his little fort of storage containers immediately after.
Too little, too late.
"Hot Shot," Scorch greeted, rounding into the multi-changer's hidey hole. "What are you doing outside? It's getting cold, my friend."
"C-chores," Hot Shot hurriedly lied. "H-heatwave assigned me a-and the others with shutting down the g-gym before the snow hits. S-season changes, ya k-know."
The pro-star glanced around the yard, an optic ridge quirked in disbelief. "Hmm. Doesn't seem like you got much done yet," he mused aloud, his tone cryptic. "But, I'm glad to know that you are not avoiding us newbies. After all, Heatwave did say we were to seek you out if we had any questions or needed some more guidance around the school."
The shorter Autobot tried to hide his resulting flinch at the words. That's right, Heatwave had made him responsible over Scorch and the other first years- a task that Hot Shot had quickly fled from. He'd been spending all week trying to remain busy and unavailable whenever Scorch wasn't in class; anything to keep from being alone with his former friend. Clearly that hadn't worked out very well.
"So, you actually use any of this stuff?," Scorch was asking, reaching into an open container only partially filled.
"No, stop," Hot Shot interjected, a servo snapping forward to the pair of dumbbells that the yellow recruit was about to grasp, "Those-" 'Those are Wedge's,' he had been about to say, but he hesitated anxiously on the confession, realizing he had no place to defend an item just because it had been the orange youngling's favourite to use.
His hesitation was a mistake. Yelping, the multi-changer onlined his optics again to find himself pressed against a stack of bins; a knee between his thighs and his outstretched servo caught in Scorch's tight grip as the pro-star leaned into the other Autobot's personal space. "I heard you discovered the nasty truth about that Wedge guy," Scorch said, his tone soft and sympathetic, pulling the trapped servo towards his cheekplate. "I'm sorry I never said anything sooner. I didn't want to be right about him, but I forgot how that might badly affect you."
Hot Shot squirmed meekly, stopping as the encroaching limb pressed deeper into his personal space, white thigh almost touching his red codpiece. "S-scorch-"
The red recruit's protests were crushed by a resounding squeak; Scorch's hips lined up against his own suddenly and fingers trembling as they were mouthed softly by his assailant. "He didn't do anything to you... right?," the yellow Autobot asked, his optics piercing the other in silent demand, lip components still brushing against a pinkie.
His spark was rotating at dizzying speeds, his fuel tanks taking giant, sickening leaps inside his frame as fear was taking seed in Hot Shot. "N-no! S-scorch, h-he i-isn't- I m-mean...," he mumbled, trying to work his free servo against his former friend's chestplates while tugging on his captured one, "I-it's not l-like that-"
Scorch's grip on his wrist could not be shaken off though, and he bit into the side of Hot Shot's palm as he pressed against the shorter youngling bodily, halting any further attempts to push him away. Denta slowly peeling away from the bruised plating, the yellow recruit gazed down on his hunched companion, mouth moving fleetingly across a grey audio receptor. "It's okay, Hot Shot," came Scorch's enthralling coo, "You don't have to pretend that he was anything good. We all know he was a filthy Decepticon with vile thoughts. I'm here for you and anything you could need, my friend; I promise to never leave you alone."
The pro-star was looking down on him with that smug, deceiving smirk of his- the one that Hot Shot could now recognize and quaked in terror to see. The multi-changer didn't want to have this bully's promise; he didn't want to be forced up against walls and twisted into accepting his good graces and false affections. He only wanted-
"Scorch!"
It was a strange sense of déjà vu as Boulder strode across the field in stern fashion while the two younglings disentangled from each other; his temper contained, but still evident in the downward tug of his mouth. "This is the third time that I am reminding you, Scorch, that as a new recruit you must remain with your group of fellow first-years. You wandering off has once again made you tardy for your next lesson," he gruffly informed. "Now please head directly to Chase's class before I have to punish you with extra chores for this disregard of Academy rules."
"Ah, sorry about that, uh, Professor," Scorch grinned up at the green mech cheekily. "I'm just so happy to be with my dear partner, Hot Shot, I couldn't help myself. But you're right, I'm going now. So, so sorry about my lil' error."
The bulldozer made a small sound of displeasure, watching as the yellow youngling meandered back towards the Academy and finally indoors. Venting irritably, he turned to the second recruit. "And now for- Hot Shot?"
Boulder's ire dissipated immediately upon seeing the multi-changer leaning stiffly against the storage container; optics bright, shining against the river of tears sliding down his cheekplates. "Hot Shot? Hot Shot, are you okay?!," the older Autobot questioned worriedly, dropping to one knee tread. "Hot Shot, what ha-"
"P-professor," the red youngling wheezed, grabbing his teacher's arm with shaking servos as he snapped out of his trance. "Professor, pl-please, t-take me to C-Cybertron. I-i-i... I m-made a mistake. I n-need to a-apologize to W-wedge."
Boulder looked slowly from the desperate optics still laden with unshed coolant, to the smaller fingers digging into his treads with frantic strength. The longer he failed to reply though, the more panicked he noticed the recruit was becoming. "...come with me," was all he said, standing to his full height again.
Hot Shot practically ran after the green mech as he headed back into the Academy, eager to escape and find the last person he should have ever pushed away.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?