Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Only the plot and OCs.
This is so incredibly late, and I am sorry, but it fought me for a long time. However, it is now done. So here you go. I hope you enjoy.
Thank you for the reviews. ^-^
Have emotional robotic aliens and all their glory.
Chapter 4
His head hurt.
Like . . . really bad.
Like he kind of wondered if he'd somehow stuck it in a trash compactor sometime he didn't remember. A pounding resonating through his entire conscious. Static echoing in his audios and when he dared open his optics he found the blinding light of a room's safety light glowing dimly around the floor and ceiling were far too much to bare.
With a groan Hot Rod pinned his optics back shut. Trying to lift a hand to rub at the pounding throb that felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his forehead. Only his hand didn't move when he told it to.
Confused, he dared peak one optic open again. Trying to figure out why his limbs wouldn't response to him and if that was some kind of bad thing. Only . . . where his arm—and most of his upper frame—was suppose to be there was a great big expanse of blue and white.
Huh?
Attempting to roll onto his back didn't get him much more of an answer. Because apparently there was no backward. There was too much big bulk pressed up the entire length of his back. Wrapping him up and squeezing him tight.
Blinking rather stupidly through the slight distort of his vision wasn't easy. Neither was trying to think through the pounding in his head and audios.
What was going on?
Where was he?
Shifting a little, trying to figure out what was happening with a processor working so sluggishly. It was harder than it should have been. He couldn't even tell what it was that was wrapped so tightly round him.
But it was warm.
And very strong.
Kind of . . . nice.
The tired part of his processor, the side that wanted to close his optics again to stop the aching in his processor, thought that that was more than enough reason to close his optics and go back to recharge. That seemed like a much better option than keeping his optics open and making the pounding worse.
Only this was . . . weird.
How did he get here?
What was happening?
He didn't remember, and that was even weirder.
He shifted again. Trying to move his frame with the heavy weight wrapped around it. Another low sound rolling out of him when he tried to pulled his cradled frame away. Then, suddenly, the tight hold around him shifted. Pulling him closer, and tucking him tighter. The strength and warmth shuffling him closer. Huge mass cradling around him.
The sound of venting breaths, the hum of resting systems, the beating of a spark through plating against his back.
He was being held.
Somebot was holding him.
What . . . ?
Roddy stiffened up.
The shift in the pull of him closer moved him just enough now that he could look over his shoulder to find the faceplate of just who had a hold of him.
Magnus?
Spark jumping into his throat Roddy was pretty sure he stopped breathing.
Magnus.
Oh . . . oh frag.
What the pit did I do!?
His already sluggish processor locked up. Optics widened despite how bad that made his head hurt, and he just looked. Because what other thing was he fraggin' suppose to do?
How did he . . . what was . . . ?
A hard roll of his tanks answered the question for him. They tightened, and pinched, and then he was scrambling up, freeing himself from the larger mech's hold, ignoring the sounds of Magnus startling awake. He was too busy hauling aft across Magnus' rather boring room to the washrack on the other side. Just making it to the sink before everything he'd so stupidly drank last night came up in a burning surge.
Coughing, hacking, whimpering as half processed energon, highgrade, and internal acids assaulted him in one awful mixture. For a nano he trembled there, grasping onto the edge of the sink doing nothing but trying not to feel any of it processed before strong arms circled around him. Lifting him just enough under his arms to bear his weight, but not squeezing already struggling internal systems.
It pulled a startled yelp through him making all the purging worse, but when a deep baritone rumbled through his audios he stopped trying to fight it.
"Easy, Roddy." Ultra Magnus shushed him. One arm wrapped snuggling under his arms. Taking his weight and holding him over the high sink. Trying not to cringe too much at the nasty smelling slag he was coughing up. The other hand he cupped around the back of the smaller mech's head. Stroking the sharp points of crest fins trying to calm him some.
Another whine worked out through the coughing, but after a few more klicks it seemed to be over. Leaving the shivering mech limp there in Magnus' grip as he hung his head over the sink.
Under the waves of nausea and pain a thick cloud of shame bloomed. Creeping through Roddy's veins and into his field like the shivers he couldn't control. There was nothing he could do at this point to try and make his frame listen to him. His insides hurt too bad.
Including his spark.
Confusion.
Shame.
Regret.
It all swirled hard through his field in a sickly tang that left Magnus stiffening slightly. Tightening his grip unconsciously he pushed out his own field. A smooth flow of reassurance while he reached to the side for a wash rag draped over a rack near the sink. Quickly flicking it under the sink in a shared movement of spinning on the flow of cleanser and ducking it under.
Taking the wet cloth attempting to cup Roddy's jaw, but with a spike through his field the smaller, brighter mech flung himself away with a snarl.
"Stop it!"
Magnus dropped him out of shock.
Stumbling back with the force of sheer denial that flowed hard through Roddy's field. Only the youngest commander was nowhere near able to stand on his feet at the moment. Sending him to a crash of very painful pile on the floor.
"Roddy!" Magnus hissed, kneeling down next to him in an attempt to pick him up only to have a very uncoordinated hand fling back at him while Roddy attempted to pull himself away.
"Don't touch me!" He snarled. Snapping Magnus' touch away in a backward lean of shock. Optics widening as he sucked in a breath. Watching was Roddy trembled there. Attempting to slowly pull himself up and failing every time.
Spark clenching in its chamber, demanding every fiber of Ultra Magnus' being to reach down there and pick him up. To help him. To calm him. To get back to the smiling Roddy and not this quivering thing on the floor. He didn't know how to though.
For they'd never been here.
Roddy . . . refusing contact?
With him?
That . . . .
Roddy had become a very tactical mech over the vorns since he ended up under Optimus' care. After growing up mostly alone, lost in alley way after alley way where almost every coming touch would be painful it had taken a long time for him to become that way. He was a resilient little fragger though. He became more than any of them had thought the skinny little mech that so strangely came into their lives looked like he was capable of back then.
And those ways included learning to trust. Especially in the area of touch. Even more so for Magnus. The massive tri colored commander had actually been the first Roddy had ever learned to trust. It was why Optimus handed over his training and teaching to Magnus in the first place.
For him to struggle away now left a tightening ball of upset in the bottom of Magnus' tanks. A feeling that made him swallow hard in an attempt to keep from doing the same thing Roddy just had.
Optics widening the towering commander stayed knelt there on the tile floor of his washrack watching the smaller mech curl into himself. Whimpering, wrapping his arms tight around his knees, burrowing his forehead down between his thighs. The position had to hurt with as much as his frame must be aching from the effects of both the highgrade and the purging.
Roddy squashed his optics shut in an effort to dismiss the pain thudding through him, but more so he didn't have to look at the expression on Magnus' faceplate. His spark was doing this weird jumping kind of clench. Unsure if it wanted to be right or wrong with the assumptions it was trying to work its way through.
Because no matter how much his processor was telling him he'd once again screwed up rather royally his spark was pretty happy at the prospect of waking up in Magnus' berth wrapped up in those powerful arms and that enormous frame. However, how and why he got there was something he had no idea even to where to guess out. He couldn't remember last night. He couldn't remember how he got here let alone what had happened before or after.
Damn.
His head hurt.
Stupid highgrade. Stupid spark. Stupid . . . him.
Shivering there on the floor for a while long Roddy attempted to pull up some kind of memory file. Some clue that would explain to him how the frag he got to where he was now, but all he got was a blurry mess of tears and the strong rhythm of a spark beating away close to his audios.
Steady.
Reassuring.
Familiar.
A sound and a presence he'd clung to far too often over the vorns. The sound of the spark of the mech he needed more than anybot around here had the slightest notion of.
Well . . . maybe apart from Drift . . . and Elita.
But he'd never been any good at hiding things from Drift. Not even back in their academy orns. They had too much in common. Drift knew a little bit too much about what it was like on the streets. For he'd grown up in an even worse part of Cybertron then Roddy did.
For Drift was from Rodion. From the Dead End.
And Elita was her.
Magnus was the first mech Roddy trusted, but Drift was his first friend. As for Elita, well she had taken to making sure Roddy had somewhere to turn when there was nowhere else to go way back then. In the time where Optimus and Magnus were still working for the Enforcers and had little time to look his way after he was in school. Elita might have been working right there beside them, but Roddy guessed you could chalk it up to carrier instincts.
She had always noticed him when he needed to be noticed and Magnus wasn't there to talk to.
Arms tightening around his legs Roddy tried to hold on to his speeding vents. Trying to calm down his building panic attack. Not that it was working all that well as he sat there balled on the floor trying to figure out what was going on.
Coping skills . . . he so didn't have them.
A quiet, cautious, pleading kind of sound slowly rose up through Magnus' vocal processor. Roddy wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish with a sound like that, but it did get the smaller mech to peak up over the edge of his arm. Maybe that was the purpose because Magnus' dim optics brightened a little with the much more blue shade of Roddy's met his.
The huge mech was still balanced rather awkwardly there on his heels. Long legs bents and long arms resting on his knees, and his strong shoulders sloped downward in this way that just screamed wrong to Roddy's processor. It was enough of a wrong picture. The sadness in those dim blue pools that he made himself lift his head just a little bit more. Looking back as Magnus arm twitched once. What seemed to be an effort to reach out for the smaller mech.
He stopped before he did though so this time Hot Rod didn't have to flinch. Instead he just curled there and watched. Trying to think through the pounding in his head. Trying to remember how the frag he got here.
"Roddy," Magnus' deep voice filled the constricting tightness of the younger mech's spark. Just like it always had. Seeming to vibrate through his spark chamber in a way he had never truly understood. Though he had spent a good portion of his adult life trying to ignore it. Trying to hide it.
Trying to get over the utter stupidity of it all.
Of his stupid spark's want for something it would never ever have.
And he'd gotten pretty good at it. If he did say so himself. At least on the front of hiding it, denying it, even to himself. Of going about his life and pretending it didn't hurt. Because they were in the middle of a damn war.
This was not the time for youngling like crushes on a mech that not only would never see him as anything other than that scrawny youngling that stumbled his way so stupidly into their lives, the young mech that he constantly had to fix the screw ups of, and pick up when he fell down, and see how often he so royally messed up. But more than that, more than the fact that Magnus would only ever seen a youngling, but Magnus had lost a sparkmate.
He'd been bonded before.
He had a sparkling. Sure Jolt was grown now and Magnus had never got the see the young medic grow up, but they were doing rather well. Growing into each other and learning about each other. Jolt was a lot better at communicating then Magnus was and didn't seem all that worried about all the things they had missed. They had grown to like each other, to be friends. Which might not be the relationship either were ever meant to have, but in the middle of a war, with the events that had lead to the strangeness of it all it was acceptable. It was something far more than either of them ever through they would get before.
That wasn't the point though.
It wasn't that Magnus had a son that was only—at most—two hundred and something vorns younger then Roddy.
It was Artemis.
That beautiful, sweet, smart, and loving femme. The one that had smiled at him all those vorns ago, patted him on the head, and welcomed him to their crazy family. Before the whole world fell apart. Before the carrying femme had been so brutally ripped away from her mate and her family. When they all thought she had died, but instead suffered a fate far worse until it eventually all ended.
Hot Rod remembered.
He remembered very well. All the nights he had sat quietly beside this massive mech and watched him cry his spark out over the one he had lost. Knowing there was nothing he could do to help, and knowing he had no right to be there in the first place, but not wanting Magnus to snuffer alone. So he had stayed.
Stayed and tried to be some kind of comfort when he already knew he would never be enough.
And that was it. It hadn't been hardly four vorns after she died that Hot Rod had started to notice. Started to notice that he liked Magnus far more then he had any right to.
His spark constricted a little tighter in its chamber. Making it just a little bit harder to breathe.
He was a fraggin' glitch. That was what he was.
A selfish, screwed up, glitch.
"Roddy, come on." Pressing forward with both his voice and his frame, Magnus tried again, but when Hot Rod shied away again he rocked back. Optics dimming once again Magnus pulled back. Watching as Roddy tightened his grip around himself and cast his optics around the washrack. If it was an effort to take in his surrounds or to not have to look at him. He didn't know.
Casting his optics around again Hot Rod quietly muttered.
"How did I get here? What did I do?"
Settling down until his weight was resting on his knees and not just his feet Magnus answered. "You were overcharged. Badly. I brought you back here with me to keep an optic on you."
The whole cuddling up to him and holding him close had sort of been an accident and he was praying Roddy had been too distorted by the hangover to notice. It was possible, but it wasn't likely. Not with the way the smaller bot was cringing away from him.
Magnus had to swallow back the sick taste rising in his throat.
He'd screwed up.
And he hadn't even been awake while he did it!
"I'm sorry, Roddy, I—"
The smaller mech's head shot up. The bright contrast of his yellow crest against his red armor casting a bright shine under the harsh washrack lights.
"Sorry?" He cut him off. Confusion shining brightly in those pretty blue optics. "You didn't—no I—I mean—shouldn't have done—I'm sorry."
He finally hissed out with a bow of his head. Trying to choking back the sudden rush of tears that came with the uncomfortable look on the bigger mech's faceplate.
"I shouldn't have—I messed up—pit I always mess up." And then he was scrambling again. An attempt to get out even if his frame wasn't really obeying him. He didn't make it very far with the attempt. Hardly a few steps before Magnus caught up.
Stopping him.
Pulling him down and yanking him close.
The move enough of a shock that Roddy didn't fight the fall. Found that he couldn't. Not even when he realized what was happening. He was too busy freezing up as his optics blew wide when those strong arms wrapped tightly around him and yanked him against the bigger mech. Settling into his lap and pressing him close to his chest. Cradling his head in this odd chin hold as he rested it against him.
He had no idea what was happening.
But then again Magnus didn't have much of a clue either. He just hated it so damn much when the smaller mech started talking like that. Hated it to the point he wanted to strangle him when he did, or at least shake him until his teeth rattled. Maybe it would knock some sense into that far too thick head and stubborn spark.
Or maybe because it just made him feel better when he pulled the smaller mech close again. Holding him even if he had no right.
Roddy didn't struggle, but that didn't make it any better. For Magnus knew the truth.
Hot Rod was doing well to remember to breath at this point. Sniffling through the streams running down his cheeks. Attempting to keep his spark from hammering hard enough that his frame took it up like some love strut wire hare.
That was not so easy to accomplish with his whole frame wrapped up by the larger, stronger, older, better mech that pulled him into his lap. Like he belonged there. Like he had a place. Like things would be okay.
A quiet shushing whispered against his audios. Calming, smooth, deep. Assuring him that it was alright. That he hadn't done anything wrong.
But how could that be?
He got drunk.
He got his ship blown up.
He got Optimus and his ship ambushed.
He got so many killed.
He had done that.
How could nothing be wrong?
Curling tighter into Magnus' chest Roddy curled his fingers into the grooves of his armor. Burrowing his face into the warm, strong chest as he squeezed his optics shut. Like it was possible to hide there for a little while and things would be okay. Magnus seemed perfectly alright with letting him. If the way he settled down onto the washrack floor and held Roddy closer was anything to go by at least.
Engine rumbling quietly in the early morning quiet of the commander's room. Fingers stroking lightly over Roddy's back.
To be perfectly honest Roddy had no idea how what happened next did. He had exactly planned it. He'd only meant to pull back slightly and say something. To apologize again, probably. To say that he was sorry he messed up, but that he would do better. That if Magnus would just forgive him for being the screw up that he was he would find a way to prove himself. To him, to Optimus, to all of them. To make up for all the stupid ways he'd messed things up over the vorns.
So how it was exactly he went from looking up into those deep blue optics, to those oh so soft looking lips he hadn't the slightest idea. Even more so he had no idea how the long repressed wonder of what those lips might feel like translated into the action of him leaning up, pressing forward, and kissing them.
He supposed he could blame the highgrade. Or the hangover. Or his stupid present wanting spark.
Maybe all of it.
But in that except moment that his lips pressed hard against Magnus' there wasn't much thought at all. Nothing more than this overwhelming flush through his systems of.
Yes.
His spark surging in its chamber in a happy squeal of overwhelming warmness. Field flexing and flaring. Optics pinched tightly closed and lips just as much so. It was nowhere near a good kiss.
To stiff.
To afraid.
To rushed.
But Roddy's spark didn't care. It sang and his whole frame felt like it was melting. A happy little sound flowing out of his vocal processor.
The sudden taste of shock through his energy field from the larger commander brought reality crashing back down upon him like a bucket of coolant. Processor catching up with him at the feeling he picked up.
Optics suddenly snapping open to find the overly wide and shocked pools of blue shining back at him from above. It was then that Roddy truly—logically—realized what he was doing. Even if maybe he should have already.
He was kissing Magnus.
He was kissing Magnus and . . . Magnus . . . wasn't kissing back.
His whole frame ramrod straight. Lips stiff and still. Optics blown wide in shock.
Hot Rod swore he actually felt the moment his spark cracked in half.
Shame, pain, and mortification slammed down onto him harder than his ship had hit the sand not even a decacycle earlier. In a snap of movement he pulled back, sprang free, and ran. Ran with a choked off sound of something that might have been an apology of some kind he fled without looking back. Without hearing the shocked stutter of his name that finally worked through Magnus' warm lips or the big mech rushing to his feet.
The door slammed shut behind him and Roddy didn't look back.
He just ran.
He wasn't sure where he'd go—they were on a ship for Primus sake—but he knew he couldn't say here. He knew he couldn't face it. He couldn't take the soft, quiet, rejection that would come now.
He couldn't.
"Somebot had better tell me what the frag kind of prank this is supposed to be before I dismantled every single one of you."
Ratchet's low growl echoed through the small shipping compartment of the Victory that had become the Dinobots room. The space they were sharing with Wheeljack. One because the inventor was still trying to make sure Swoop was going to be able to fly again after the damage he had taken, and also because he was the only one besides Bee that could spend extended periods of time with them and Grimlock not want to break them in half.
The normal flinch that might have followed a statement such as that from the medic did not leave the tri colored inventor though. He was too set on the process of watching the relays in Swoop's wing joints flex and roll as he opened and closed the long appendages. The smallest ancient—that still managed to be twice as big if not more than Wheeljack—was sitting on the new workbench with his long legs dangling off the side and his head tilted sideways.
Watching, hoping.
He'd been unable to fly since Grimlock and Scorn freed him from the burning wall that had nearly crushed him in the crash. There had been a desperation in the eldest ancient that orn that none of them had ever seen before.
The King of the Dinobots had a soft spot for Bee and had more than once been a powerful force to be reckoned with when it came to the little mechling. When it came to his youngest brother by code though. That was a whole story all together.
Grimlock babied Swoop for more then he should, and he knew he did, but that didn't stop him. The youngest, the smallest, and technically the weakest of them. All the ancients were by far the most protective of Swoop.
Swoop who had shoved Wheeljack out of the way of a crumbling wall of fire and nearly got his stupid little aft killed in the process. Scorn hadn't put the smaller mech down for three orns after he woke up and Grimlock was far more prickly than usual.
If it was him coping with the almost lose of his whole world and his brothers or if he was just mad about the whole damn thing in general Wheeljack couldn't figure out yet. Ratchet was keeping his distance at the tri colored mech's request. After Swoop was out of danger of leaking to death he left him to the inventor's and his siblings' care.
Getting them a space to call their own on a ship that was now far too crowded had been easier said than done. However, when faced with getting them their own space or facing Grimlock's overprotective temper tantrums a space was made.
One where Wheeljack could keep an optic on them all and in turn Ratchet could keep an optic on them and him.
As he walked into the room the yellow and red medic watched the other massive ancients perk up at the sight of him. Wheeljack only glanced up once he was done stretching the flier's healing right wing out. The thick weld through the folds of the metal mesh had to be sanded down and smoothed at least twice an orn to keep from hindering his flying.
"Whatever it was we didn't do it." Bumblebee's voice piped up as he leaned around Scorn's massive arm where the huge femme had him resting in her lap. Considering there were no real chairs on this ship big enough for them the huge bots had taken to just sitting around on the floor. And considering they still found Bee very pick-up-able none of the ancients had any issue with sill carrying him around like his whole family had been able to do not that long ago.
Ratchet's lift optic ridge at the comment, crossing the room to the table they were all around. He didn't look happy, but Ratchet hadn't been happy in orns. None of them had, but they had their very good reasons.
There was a good portion of this family that was still just getting back up on their feet while the rest of them were still nursing their wounds. Then there was the dark cloud that hung over all of them. The ghosts that lingered around every corner and every room of those that weren't there among them.
So many.
So many gone.
So many the medics had no hope of saving.
There was nothing any of them could have done, but that didn't take the Chief Medic's guilt away. Nothing ever would. It was simply the way Ratchet was. It was how he had always been.
That was now what prompted Ratchet's seemingly endless walks around the ship. Checking on bots he knew were already back on their feet but unable to not do it. As the med bay slowly cleared he and the others should be feeling better, but there was nothing to feel all that better about. Apart from them all not being dead, but watching and feeling the pain around them and unable to do anything about it made even that fact had to swallow.
"What are you doing down here, Bee?" Ratchet grumbled as he finally stopped beside Wheeljack. Reaching out and taking hold of the flier with no comment from the others as he too checked over the deep, jagged, healing cuts through the ancient's wings.
"Mia and Hide had a meeting, the twins are sparring, Jazz is locked up with Prowl in his office, Optimus is on the bridge, you and Arcee are busy, and besides Swoop needed a hug." The little mech answered with a shrug. Earning a smile and a purr from the youngest Dinobot as well as a tighter hold from the large femme that had him. Jack shot him a smile as well as Ratchet, but he said it more to get the pained looked off of Swoop's faceplate then anything else.
The flier hurt, very badly. It was clear in the way he didn't move.
Of all the ancients Swoop was always the loudest, the most active, but because of the mandatory rest and how bad his wings were hurting him he spent most of the last orns curled up against Sludge, Snarl, and Slag. Not wanting to move much more then breathing.
Bee had been making rounds just as Ratchet had. Trying to make sure he got to see and touch all his remaining family. To remind himself that they were okay, that they were still here. He was spending a great deal of time with the Dinobots down here because of that.
Because there was just something terribly wrong with a quiet and still Swoop.
He didn't like it.
"Did you take the nanite boost I gave you?" Ratchet started muttering as he looked over Wheeljack's work on Swoop's wings he missed Bumblebee's optic roll as he nodded.
"Yes, Ratchet. Mia wouldn't let me leave the room without taking the nasty slag."
"Nasty it may be." Wheeljack smiled at him. "But you're still growing. Your repair systems could use the help with the damage they had to cope with."
Bee grumbled something that sound like stop treating him like a sparkling as he scrambled out of Scorn's lap. Getting an affectionate pat from the massive femme and a flick in the doorwing from Grimlock from where the even bigger mech sat beside her on the floor.
"And where are you going now?" Ratchet asked as the young mech skipped back out the door.
"I've got lessons with Drift this orn, remember? He got pissed about the twins giving me the dagger and not giving me any lessons. I said I'd let him teach me some stuff with his swords to stop them from fighting."
Ratchet nodded, remembering the argument that went down yesterday. He was the one that had to step between the growling pair of frontliners and the snarling swordsmech when the fight had escalated to the screaming match turned toward the fact that the mechling would most likely be dead had that knife not been in his subspace.
It had been Optimus that eventually told them all to knock it off, though he had agreed that with Smokescreen gone before this whole disaster happened Drift was the best swordsmech on the ship and that Bee could use the lessons.
It would serve as a distraction as much as it would the teaching of a needed skill. Bumblebee had yet to truly pick himself back up yet. It was something they all saw very well. He was doing his best to force a smile and only hold on so long to the different bots he spent all orn and night rotating in clinging too. Trying to assure himself that his family was still there.
He might think they all couldn't tell, that they couldn't see it, but they could.
It was why Ratchet let him go without anymore demands of looking him over or about the thing that had Optimus stalking around in circles on the bridge. The things the mechling had heard.
None of them knew what he might have really heard, who it was, or how it happened but none were all that keen on finding out either. They were going to have too that was just the misrule truth, but that didn't mean they had to be happy about it.
Turning his gaze back to the bright red optics staring down at him Ratchet offered the flier a small smile as he said.
"How are you doing this orn, Swoop?"
"Me Swoop feeling bit better. Me can fly again now?" There was a hopeful tang in the ancient's airy voice. It made the response on Ratchet's tongue taste even worse.
"No, Swoop, not yet." He tired to pretend he couldn't feel the dismay and misery flare through the Dinobot's energy field before it tucked back into itself. Shrugging his shoulders and looking away the youngest of the ancient's tired to sound as if that was not crushing his spark, but they all knew it was.
That was why both Wheeljack and Ratchet were trying so very hard to get his wings healed as quickly as possible. That and because if Grimlock took out his anger much more on the ship none of them were going to have a home anymore.
Walking down the halls of the Eternity Bumblebee spared a smile for the many he passed. The whole army crammed onto one ship made it impossible to not meet somebot around every corner. Not that Bee minded. After all that had happened he liked being able to find a familiar face so easily. The only downside to the closeness was Scout was so not a lots of bots kind of hound. Especially not when he felt bad.
Echo loved attention of any kind. She didn't mind all the bots around all the time, but Scout was still prickly and protective after what happened. He didn't like all the bots he wasn't use too around Bee all the time. Looking at all the faces as if they were going to try and kill his alpha brother like the one from before had.
Assuring the mech hound that everything was okay, that no bot around here was going to hurt any of them, was proving to be a bit harder than expected. Bee's still thick anxiety and pain over all that had happened wasn't helping matters. Scout was feeding off those feelings and letting his assurances fall on deaf—scarred—audios.
That was why the yellow mechling was forced to leave his hounds in the tiny room he and his creators were sharing. It was that or have Scout biting bots again, and no bots tempers were quite up to dealing with that right now. It was just safer for all involved to not try Scout's temper right now.
The hound wasn't normally this angry, but an aching audio and the shock of it all was affecting him as much as it was everybot else. Letting him brew in the room was better than trying to watch him every nano to make sure he didn't bite.
The hound wasn't necessarily happy about this, but Bee was the alpha for a reason. What he said goes. Between him and Echo being of the same opinion Scout was left with nothing to do but curl in a ball on the end of Bee's berth and try to recharge away the lingering pain.
The young mech wished there was something more he could do for both his hounds in that department of still feeling the wounds they had earned trying to protect him, but supplies were running drastically thin to begin with. There was hardly enough pain meds left between the medics' stocks to treat the bots that were in desperate need of it. The little they had was better off used on those that truly needed it. Not those that were just uncomfortable.
It was just the way things were for now. At least until they figured out what to do next.
Slipping down a few more halls, heading down to the sparring ring he was suppose to meet Drift in a sound stopped Bee in his tracks. In the moment of the actually freeze Bumblebee wasn't quite sure what it was. Wasn't sure it was a sound at all that stopped him.
In fact, as he stood there in a dim hall down in the lower belly of the ship he realized it wasn't a sound. It was a feeling.
Head tilting to the side the little mech spread out his doorwings, flickering his antennas, stretched his energy field, and flared his spark. Trying to figure out just what it was that he was picking up on. Then, suddenly, it came again.
A hitching kind of pulse of energy.
A silent sob.
An aching spark.
Bee's own spark constricted painfully in his chest in a sucked in shocked breath as he pivoted on his feet in an attempt to pinpoint just where it was coming from. Mind almost spinning with the sheer pain leaking through the cosmic field of sparks Bee almost swayed on his feet with it.
Such agony seeping out of the spark that owned it without consent made the young mech feel like he should be preparing to find a half dead frame when he pushed open the boiler room door at the bottom of the engines block bay. When it turned out to be Roddy hyperventilating, head between his knees, fingers digging into his head, whole frame shaking, crying in half aborted sobs as he hid among the twisting maze of pipes and tubing in the far too hot room Bee wasn't quite sure what to do for half a nano.
However, his spark caught up with his processor quick enough that with a swift intake of breath he shot across the steam filled room, sliding to his knees next to the bright mech, with a quick gasp.
"Roddy! Roddy, what's wrong!?"
He didn't get an answer. The larger mech's shoulders simply hunched down tighter. Like he was attempting to hide or make the maze of steaming, scolding pipes behind him to swallow him up.
For a nano Bee sat there on his knees, unsure what really to do with himself before he managed to calm the frantic confusion and worry of his spark. Just enough to slid a bit closer, lay a hand on Hot Rod's shoulder, and tug at him.
"Roddy?" He tried again. Mindful of the way the larger mech tucked and tried to pull away. As he bit back the shuttering sobs. Refusing to look up or even acknowledge the mechling's presence next to him.
The sheer level of shaking he was doing was rattling his armor hard enough to bruise the protoform underneath.
Trying again Bee ducked down as well in an attempt to get a look at the bright mech's faceplate. "Roddy?"
Nothing.
Only the choking sobs that rattled through all of him and the shivering agony that was leaking out to him. Bee wasn't sure if the older mech's control over his inner emotions was slipping that far out of his reach or if it was just him picking up on things others couldn't again. Considering half the command staff wasn't down here looking for the youngest commander he was leaning toward this was just his spark doing things that weren't normal again. In this case he wasn't worried about if it was him, he just wanted to know what was wrong with Hot Rod.
A klick past in which Bumblebee's optics darted frantically around the bright mech's form trying to make his processor at least figure out what to do. When he pulsed out with this spark in a try to get a reaction that he couldn't get verbally the yellow mechling was officially starting to freak out.
Something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
Rocking back on his peds Bee patted quickly at Roddy's armor. "Okay, Roddy, can you hear me? If you can hear me I'm gonna call—"
"NO!" The bright commander lashed out in a desperate smack. Managing to both shove Bee away and then yank him back in a shared motion. It wasn't the hard hit or even the outburst that stopped Bee cold though.
No.
It was the sheer panic and pain shining in those coolant filed blue optics.
Bee felt his spark seize up and sink in it's chamber.
"No!"
Roddy was babbling now. Grip so tight around Bee's armor he was denting the plating. Coolant streaking in blue trailing down the bigger mech's handsome faceplate. His whole frame quivering with his choking sobs as he pulled the younger mech almost flush against his front. Panicky in a way that Bee had never seen the elder mech.
"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no please! Don't. Call. No calls. No. Not him. Please!"
By that point Roddy had wrapped his long, thin, lethal arms around Bee's back and yanked the littler mech into his lap. Rocking back and forth with trembling shutters. Burrowing his faceplate into the softer cabling of Bumblebee's neck leaving him staring with wide optics into the steaming pipe behind him. Wings wide and high behind him in shock. Plating flared and then plastering with the sharp sudden fear before it settled with the upset that shivered through the elder mech.
For a moment Bee was too shocked to do much of anything, but let Hot Roddy cling to him. Slowly, as his processor caught up with the situation, he laced his arms around Roddy's thin neck. Settling into a sideways lean in the strong hold he sagged against Roddy's chest. Allowing the mech to shiver, cling, and whimper into Bee's plating.
He had no idea what was going on or what was wrong, but he knew sitting down here among the boilers alone wasn't going to work. He loved Roddy like the brother he was, but the commander wasn't as bright and as carefree as he often tried to appear. Calling him on it had never been Bee's place though. There were really only four bots in the army that could make Roddy talk when he didn't want to.
Roddy didn't seem to want even them right now.
Worry chilled through his spark chamber as he tried to figure out what had happened to turn the grinning commander into this. To make him react so harshly to even the concept of a comm call. To make him cling like this to Bee.
Unsure what to do Bee held him back. Trying not to focus too hard on the cold splashes of coolant against his neck. If he did he'd probably start freaking out as bad as Roddy was and right now that was the last thing that needed to happen.
So instead he tightened his hold as Roddy did the same. Taking a page out of all his caretakers books and started a low, rumbling, comforting purr through his engine and up into his vocal processor. An attempt to level Roddy some. To give him a link back to reality beside just the clutching he was doing to Bee's smaller frame.
They stayed there link that for a long time. Bee rubbing slow circles into the back of Roddy's neck and purring softly trying to comfort him as Roddy rocked slowly back and forth. Clinging to the young mechling like he had never done before.
It had to be at least thirty klicks later when Bee's comm chirped with Drift's signal. Tightening his hold around Roddy's neck Bee accepted the call.
"Bee?" Drift's internal voice drifted through Bee's processor with a curious tint. "Where are you, little mech? We had a lesson this orn. Remember?"
Casting a sideways glance to the back of Hot Rod's head Bumblebee wasn't sure if it was betraying the upset mech or not, but he had to do something. Roddy was still shaking. Still crying.
And Bee didn't know what to do to make him stop.
"Drift?" There must have been something in his voice because Bee could already feel the mech tense over the bond they shared.
"What's the matter?"
"Could . . . ." Another hard shake went through Roddy, another choked off sob. No matter what Roddy said, somebot he could talk too needed to get down here right now. "Could you please come over to the boiler room? Something is seriously the matter with Roddy."
The swordsmech didn't answer. He didn't have too. Even across the ship—when he was focused on a mech—Bee could feel the sudden stall that went through Drift before he took off at a sprint. The sparring room was only a level and a few hallways over so the speeder mech made it to the cold grey steal door only to come up short at what he found curled up there among the hot, hard to breathe air.
Those sky color optics widened against his pale white faceplate as Bee peaked backward to find the mech. Roddy was too busy shaking and crying to notice his best friend barge into the room. Even when Drift hurried down the tight corridor between the network of steaming pipes. Falling to his knees next to his brightly colored friend. Reaching forward only to snap back the action before he touched the other mech. Instead settling down in a twist of knees and ankles until he was crouched into the other's field space.
Bee didn't dare move as Roddy tensed up with the sudden realization that another had joined them. The low whine and tremble rolling through him as he tightened his hold on Bee and refused to look up didn't do anything to make the youngling's spark stop quivering with worry.
"Roddy?" Drift's smooth voice rolled out.
Hot Rod tensed a little bit more and leaned away even if the other hadn't touched him yet. His arms curling even more around Bee's back until he was stressing the hold of his doorwings protoform through his plating. It didn't hurt per say, it was more of a dull pinch, but it was still uncomfortable. Making Bee wiggle with it, trying to ease the tinge that strung through his main back strut.
Hot Rod didn't seem to have any plans on letting him go though and even if his discomfort showed on his faceplate he wasn't going to make the commander let go if he really needed this. Drift's optics focused on Bee's scrunched up faceplate for a nano before he settled his weight down into a seated position next to Roddy. Scooting until they were pressed plating to plating.
It made Roddy whine again, but he didn't try and flee and his hold didn't get any tighter around Bumblebee. He didn't pull his face from the mechling's neck cables, but he allowed Drift's arms to snake around his shoulders, pulling him into his side.
A few klicks of silence followed that. Broken only with Roddy's attempt at ending his crying. The sobs had at least slowed down, but the pain wasn't leaving his spark. It was screaming out all the same with this confusing kind of agony that no matter how Bumblebee tried to wrap up around it and poke at it the cause wasn't presenting itself. It was like Roddy didn't want to face what it was that was upsetting him so, and while that wasn't really a new concept for the commander's psyche this degree of it was worrying the mechling.
The longer they sat there the quieter Hot Rod got and the looser his hold became. Bumblebee wasn't sure if that was caused by Drift being there with his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders or if he was finally managing to calm himself down. Whatever it was though he was happy it was happening.
"Roddy?" Drift's voice came again. When it didn't pull a whimper or a flinch from the commander the other went on. "What's going on, Roddy?"
Slowly the commander pulled away from hiding in Bee's neck. Letting go enough to start whipping at his stained cheeks. Coolant was still pooling and streaking down, but it was less now and Roddy's breathing was evening out. It kind of felt like he was forcing himself too.
Shivering, breathing hard Hot Rod turned his faceplate just enough to meet his friends optics. Only to tear his gaze away again when he did.
Then with a harsh, self demeaning, fake laugh he tried to shrug. "If I said nothing could we just pretend none of this ever happened?"
Bee bolted upright and glared down at the other mech. "Not a chance."
Bright optics narrowing into thin slits as he glared hard at the mech currently trying to find some way to hide even with the mechling in his lap and his best friend pressed against his side. It wasn't working too well. Which was probably the reason Roddy finally released him fully. Even if it was just to press his faceplate into his palms.
Neither the mechling perched on his thighs or the swordsmech wrapped around his side pressed him. Just let the commander breath for a klick or two. The moments stretched on to the point where Drift began to worry he was going to have to make his friend talk.
Then, suddenly, in a broken whisper Roddy mumbled.
A slur together of sounds and the pitch of his voice. Only it was too distorted to make sense of. Spoken into his palms and whispered not even Bee's added advantage of antennas and doorwings were going to help him. Not even Drifts long finels were going to do him any good either.
It left the two looking at each other until Drift tightened his hold on his friend and quietly said.
"Roddy, I can't understand you."
Oh, the commander was very aware of that fact. It was why he did it in the first place. Whole frame shivering again with the force of his emotions. Of his panic and his anxiety.
Hunkering down tighter into his own armor. What he was trying to hide from now he didn't even know. He just was.
He wanted to disappear.
Off the ship. Off the planet.
Away . . . . Just away.
Drift's grip tightened while Bee reached out and rubbed at the bright commander's arm.
"Roddy?" Bee whined at him softly.
Shuttering Roddy smothered his face into his hands and whimpered. "I-I. . . I—"
He started shivering again.
Drift's plating tightened as he pulled closer to Roddy and sternly asked. "Roddy . . . did somebot hurt you?"
Hot Rod snorted. A bitter sound as he slowly shook both his head and his hands back and forth with a whine. "No. No . . . I messed up. It was me. I screwed up. I screwed up big time, Drift."
"What are you talking about?"
Swallowing hard Hot Rod whispered. "I kissed Mags."
Drift jerked straight, field flaring with surprise. Bumblebee . . . well Bee was pretty sure his optics had never gotten quite that wide before.
Pushing through the slow door of Prowl's new office space converted into both that and a berthroom that he and Jazz were sharing Optimus tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. With Elita's hand gripped tightly in his own it was a little easier to pull off then it had been this morning. However, that didn't mean it wasn't taking a whole pit of a lot of effort.
It was either grind his teeth at this point or start yelling. The problem was if he started yelling the Prime was pretty sure he'd never stop. So he was doing his best to hide the action of wearing down his denta from his mate and the mated pair that followed in after them.
Ironhide's cannons had been humming a low, burning, stand by whirl for the better part of four orns. Whenever Bee was out of hearing distance the powerful weapons spun to life without any of say so from the mech that owned them. Considering he had no problem with the plasma warmed and ready in the cannon's chambers he wasn't doing much to stop it. The only reason the massive ebony mech hadn't taken his frustration out on the ship as Grimlock had was the steady presence of the dark blue femme beside him.
Not that Mia had a problem with the violent rampage that wanted out of both of them.
No.
She was just damn set on the fact that if she couldn't blow up walls then neither could her mate.
Considering what Jazz had called them here for this time though that promise of not destroying the only ship they had left in fits of rage was looking to be slipping from even the Prime's grasp when they all circled around the makeshift work station of equipment the spy master had pieced together.
Bent over the half a dozen keyboards in front of him Jazz growled quietly to himself. Not even aware the four had come in. Probably would have stayed that way had Prowl not been leaning against the desk beside him. Arms crossed tightly across his chest the doorwinged SIC stared down at the glowing monitors that lit Jazz up in an eerie glow.
The scowl tilting his lips only made the odd look of his sleek silver faceplate in the glow even darker. Only when Prowl nodded in greeting to them and cleared his throat did Jazz's audio horns twitch and the smaller mech lift his optics. Glowing behind the curve of his visor in a narrow shine.
There was something about the set of his lips and the shine in his optics that suggested nothing good.
"Jazz?"
An aborted snarl rumbled through the saboteur's engine as he pushed away from the typing he was doing. Optimus lifted an optic ridge at the sound and the glaring until he asked.
"What is all this about?"
Jazz growled, shifting on his clawed toes before he blew out a hard breath. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Ironhide rumbled back at him. Not challenging, but still enough to earn him a sneer from the strung out mech.
"Yes! I don't know!" Jazz seethed. "I don't even know where the slaggin' file came from. Just intercepted it before I even knew it was a blocked frequency. Then this is here!"
Slinging a clawed hand at the monitors Jazz fumed.
"And what is this?" Elita asked softly, watching the way Jazz's armor flexed with his rattled emotions. It took quite a lot to rattle Jazz. This wasn't just some nothing he was worry about. Whatever he had uncovered—even if it was by accident—was very important.
Optics drifting back to the screens Jazz said. "They're coordinates."
The portion of the command staff gathered in the room glanced at each other.
"Coordinates?" Chromia echoed.
"Coordinates to what? To where?" Optimus pressed.
"That's the problem." Jazz ground out. "It's not possible."
"Damn it Jazz," Ironhide snapped. "Stop talking in circles! We're all already stressed as it is! What are we talking about here!?"
"I think . . . ." Jazz sagged there before slowly lifting his optics to hold those of his Prime as he whispered. "I think it's the All Spark."
Standing in the blinding whirlwind of red sand the enormous black as death frame stripped and highlighted in thick bands of gold the last of the Knights glared through the storm. A growl rumbling through his thick chest.
Wardrums had no need to look behind him to know that Dustoff was making his way down the ramp of the hovering ship that fought with the wind just behind him. He knew Flamewar was having quite a hard time keeping the thing from crashing down to the sands. She wouldn't have to do it but for a moment. However, that didn't stop her from cursing up a storm while she piloted the thing. Attempting to keep it from crashing down on War's and Dust's heads.
"Will you two get your fat afts off the damn ship!"
War cast his fire colored optics back up at the belly of the hovering ship. Watching as Dust jumped from the ramp. Large frame landing with heavy thud and a huff as he growled.
"Don't call me fat, femme."
"I'll call you what I want when you're being stupid. This damn thing is hard to hover and you know it."
"Don't be a sparkling, Flamewar." War teased. Dodging quickly to the side as the femme dipped the ship's wing in an attempt to knock him. Laughing he moved away with Dust following after him as Flamewar finally pulled the ship quickly out of the air currents low against the desert ground.
"Oh shut up." She growled back, pulling several dozen yards up through the red wind. "I still think this is a bad idea."
"Oh yeah." Dust nodded, red optics narrow through the dust storm. "But do you have any better ideas?"
"Yeah." She snarled. "We just go find the bastard and kill him!"
War sighed.
No matter how much the idea of just tracking down The Fallen after he was stupid enough to warp after showing himself again appealed to him he knew it was foolish. He didn't need Trickster's flashed in appearance four orns ago to tell him that.
He hadn't been able to kill The Fallen billions of vorns ago and he doubted he'd be able to do it now. No matter how much that hurt his pride. There was simply too much of Deathtoll's power at play that was keeping the bastard alive.
He didn't like it, but all it had taken was a tossed datapad from the Guild Member to shut him up and turn their ship back for Cybertron.
"You know that won't work." Wardrums huffed. "Now stop complaining. I don't like this either, but we all know what will happen if he manages to get his hands on it."
"You should have hidden it better." Flamewar snorted.
War hissed. "Don't lecture me!"
"War." Dust whispered.
The massive warrior sucked in a breath and let it out in a sigh.
"Just go find them and bring them back. We're gonna need all the help we can get."
"How do you even know they'll help? They work for the Prime now."
"They still owe their lives to us. If they know what is good for them they'll get on the ship with you."
"Alright." Flamewar sighed. "I'll go find them. You two better be careful. If you get your stupid afts killed while I'm gone I'll murder you."
"Because that's not backward logic at all, Flame." Dust chuckled softly.
"Just don't do it!"
"We can feel the love, my friend." Dust went on laughing ignoring the way Flamewar jetted off with a stream of curses. Leaving the ancient mates standing there in the swirling storm of sand. To try and stop their world from ending.
Again.
The things I will do to get Wardrums back on the planet. Seriously.
Anyway.
Ta-dah! I actually got a chapter finished. It only took me a month. *jazz hands* Yeah. Honestly, I have no excuse. This chapter just wouldn't flow for a long time. But it has suddenly decided to work again. Hopefully it will keep doing so. Thank you all for being patient with me. We should be back to regular updating schedule as long as Bee doesn't decide to take another vacation.
Looking forward to seeing what you all thought.
-Jaycee