C.M.D: This pairing started out as a sort-of, crackship, between my good friend Papatron and I- back in the eon days, when we binge-watched the G1 cartoons on repeat and were just dipping our toes into the Animated and Prime continuities. There's no reason for me to have it here, other than good ol' nostalgia and fan-service. Plus Brawl really needs some lovin', what with his complicated family and all.
But buckle up, this one does get a lil' spicy... Uncensored version available at Archive, via the link in my profile.
Title: Scattershot
Rating: M
Warning: Derogatory language, assault, sticky
"One... two... three..."
"Scattershot! Scattershot are y- Oh, good grief, Scattershot. Again?," Lightspeed said, turning into the berthroom. The tall, lanky red autodog was worried to find a wad of credit bills in the burgundy youngling's lap when he entered; clothes on the german shepherd's frame rumpled and a strange scent permeating the small space. "Do you really need to do that?"
"I don't see what the problem is, Speed," Scattershot replied testily, blue visor fixed on his task. "I don't bring anyone home and I keep myself safe. What I decide to do thereafter with my frame should be of no concern of yours."
"But it's not safe!," the borzoi protested, wringing his servos in discomfort. "Listen, I don't want to judge but-"
"You are."
"But, you are underage, and what you're doing is illegal! I don't want you to end up in jail, not after we spent so long looking for you," the older mech tried to reason with the dismissive autodog. "I mean, how would that affect Strafe? O-or even Afterburner? He hates Enforcers and anything related to the law!"
Optics narrowing behind translucent glass, the german shepherd tried to continue counting his credits, but his half-brother's whining was starting to grate on his neural sensors. "You can just keep your lectures to yourself, Lightspeed," Scattershot snapped, rising to his pedes. He pocketed his credits for the time being, grabbing his knapsack as he shoved past the red autodog to get to the door. "I never asked for you idiots to come find me and I certainly don't owe you any favors. So I'll say this once again, stay out of my business and I'll keep my business out of yours!"
"But, Scattershot-," Lightspeed tried to yell, yet it was too late. The youngling was gone; the slamming door echoing behind his tail.
xxXxXxx
Scattershot had a problem. Or, well, everyone else thought he had a problem. See, he grew up, unwanted, much like his half-brothers did, though the varying regions made for a varied background between the five autodogs. Unlike Lightspeed and Nosecone, who were lucky enough to land in Iacon and Nova Cronum (one adopted, the other a ward of the state), Scattershot grew up in the gritty streets of Helex. No way comparable to Kaon with its rampant crime, Helex was still a backwater city, filled with the miserably despondent while the few individuals lived it up, miles above the factory smokestacks. The citizens had nothing to look forward to except gruelling cycles at the warehouse, orn in and orn out; with a rare pleasure found in the bloody cage fights on weekend nights and a cheap whore or two lurking the corners.
That's how the german shepherd had made it along in his life. As an orphan, he was nothing. Worse than scrap, in the optics of the underpaid, overworked labourers of Helex. It was either scavenge, and risk assured death by poisoned trash or vicious beating, or alternatively, sell your frame. Already depressed, the citizens of Helex had no concept of morals and even less care for legality. Scattershot barely had to dig around to locate someone willing to 'face with him. It had hurt, for sure, but for breaking his seal, the then-sparkling had gotten five hundred credits. That had kept him fed for a good month.
From there on in, Scattershot continued to sell his frame for credits, finding that, with a good optic, he could rake in several, hefty servofuls of credits and sometimes the 'facing was even enjoyable. That only further cemented to the youngling that there wasn't anything wrong with what he was doing and he certainly didn't care for some nosy, goody-two-shoe-apparently-relatives poking into his affairs and telling him what to do. The autodog had never asked to be "rescued" in the first place! ….Though free room and board was kinda nice, especially when he didn't have to worry about being smoked out by a warehouse accident. Grunting in reminder at his less-than-ideal beginnings, Scattershot made his way down main street, grabbing a bus so he could head down into Iacon's ghetto. Not the safest place to be at night, it was still the easiest place to grab some clients for some pocket credits; better than attempting to hook up with some poor fools uptown and getting nabbed by the Enforcers.
Reaching the last stop, the youngling jumped down and took to the suburban sidewalk, pausing for a moment to catch his bearings. From where he was, he'd have to hike at least another fifteen kliks before he crossed the line between middle-class and under the poverty line, and was in the comfortable territory of ramshackle apartments and shadowy side streets. And once Scattershot arrived, it would be the perfect cycle to earn himself some more credits.
xxXxXxx
"You again?," the bouncer at the bar asked, optic ridge quirked at the youngling.
Scattershot rolled his shoulders, canting his helm at the kittycon. "What? You got a problem with my age?," he returned smartly. "I ain't caused trouble prior."
"No, you haven't," the older mech scowled, "So don't get cocky with me, sparkling. Yer still a lil' too fresh to be buzzing around the likes of here, but ya keep under those tables and outta trouble, than I ain't gotta care."
"Sounds good to me, oldie," the german shepherd smiled smugly in return, stepping around the growling kittycon. "Gimme a holler if you're ever interested; I may even give you a discount."
The bouncer only bumped the youngling inside the bar faster, shutting the door before Scattershot could shout at the aft. Sniffing angrily, he decided just to let it go; after all, the kittycon had still let him in and now Scattershot had free reign of the place. Best thing about a bar was the number of 'bots eager for a valve after they had a few drinks, and of course, getting in a few drinks himself. No one carded once you were through the door in this sort of establishment.
"Hey, can I get a shot of rocket fuel?," the german shepherd shouted to the bartender as he hopped up on a stool. The femme glanced at him sourly, but only turned back around to prepare the youngling's drink, slapping it down on the countertop while holding out the other servo expectantly. Scattershot fished out an appropriate credit note, handing it over as he grabbed the shot. "Cheers," he smiled, knocking it back easily.
"Hey, what you up to cutie? Ya got some time for 'private conversation'?," cooed a kittycon, sidling into the nearest empty seat.
"Nah, he ain't got time for you, piss-processor," an autodog rebutted, leaning in from the other seat. His intakes rank of soiled energon; obviously, he'd been drinking for a bit. "An autodog as pretty as him ain't gonna waste his time on a disgusting kittycon."
"Hey, I like wasting time," Scattershot cut in with a slag-eating grin, leaning back against the bar to better view both potential mechs. He didn't mind when a couple 'bots fought over him. It got their energon pumping, put them in a right, good frenzy for 'facing- which made the experience all the better for the youngling. Only after they paid, obviously. "So, who wants me first? I grow more favourable to the more notes you got."
The kittycon did a double-take but pulled out his wallet anyways for a count. The autodog, on the other hand, growled in displeasure. "You're paid to order? What slag!," the second mech spat, slamming the counter top unhappily. "I ain't paying a cent to some mouthy brat and neither should you!"
The kittycon paused in alarm, shuttering his optics at the finger jabbing over Scattershot's helm.
"We should just take what we want," the autodog continued snarling, leaning into the german sheperd's face. Scattershot glared up at the older mech as he invaded his space, upper lip component curling in annoyance. He really didn't care for the stranger's tone and he certainly didn't like the sounds of this 'take charge' attitude. "There's a back door, two of us -I say, let's go! Ain't no one gonna stop us anyhow and we can both take care of business before the night gets late."
"Yeah!," the kittycon purred, jumping in on the older autodog's bandwagon. "I don't wanna waste credit on some stringy pup!"
"You slimy gits...," the youngling snarled, fangs bared and servos curling into fists on the bar. "I got more than just a pretty face, just find out if you dare!"
The two mechs both growled back in response, trying to appear bulkier as they muscled in closer to Scattershot. Grinning nastily, the german shepherd cracked his knuckles, ready to strike the moment the two other 'bots jumped. The drunken autodog attempted an over-bearing swing forward, easy enough to dodge with a simple lean-back on Scattershot's end- but before he could respectively teach the sleazeball a thing or two, a massive set of claws clapped the stranger's helm against the counter, shoving the concussed aft away.
The burgundy youngling gawked unhappily; clacking his jaw shut when the new stranger plopped down in the now-open bar stool. Whoever the bloke was, he was waaaaaaaay more massive than the other two morons combined. Like a twenty-by-twenty concrete wall, with claws and a bored expression on his face, that's what the serval immediately reminded Scattershot of. How did someone of his size even get in the building so quietly?!
"H-hey, you! Aft-wipe!," the jerk autodog yelped suddenly, startling the bemused german shepherd. With a hard vent of exasperation, Scattershot turned to face his defunct-client, now being helped up to a stand by the other kittycon reject; optics shuttering in shock as he realized that the idiot wasn't even paying the burgundy mechling any attention, though.
Interestingly enough, the loudmouth was glaring at the back of the serval's helm.
"Hey, ya hearing me, frag-face?!," the drunken autodog hollered, bringing the bar chatter down a couple decibels. "Me's and my pal were having an, u-uh, di-di- errr, talk! With t-that fragging whore, but then you thought to shove in between us. Well, I think, ya's got some apologizing to do, and, a-and... drinks! To be buying for us, for this oversight! Right after we deal with the slut first!"
The bartender was watching with a sliver-thin optic back by the kitchen doors; a bouncer peeking around his shoulder plating at the little scene unfolding at the counter. Even the closest patrons had slowed their conversations, servos clutching a little tighter around their possessions. Everyone could sense the fight brewing beneath the surface. Well, everyone that is, except for the target of the drunk's anger itself: the large, brown kittycon hunkered on a sagging stool and slowly counting credit notes on the pocked, wooden bar top.
"Did you-? Are you listening to me, retard?!," the first stranger snarled, foam appearing at the corners of his mouth as the perceived slight threw his anger to new heights. "Carrier-jacking, crayon-muncher! You're gonna- MMPHMGGHHM!"
Scattershot had done some stupid slag in his short life thus far, he knew, but even he had never been so dumb to throw a shoddy punch at the back of an opponent's helm- not when the other mech was easily five times his frame size and certainly not as plastered as the first 'bot!
To no one's surprise, the youngling thought, the drunk had his attack foiled again by a heavily-palmed slap to the face. Except this time, the serval didn't just 'gently' push the autodog away. No, the big, ol' musclehelm hoisted the weakly kicking patron to the ceiling and chucked him straight across the bar like a ragdoll, crashing into a booth in the back. The poor saps who'd been there, gambling in the dim light with half-lit cygars, scrambled out from under the broken remains of the table top, cursing loudly and beating on the drunk that had been thrown at them. All it took was one 'bot's enthusiastic elbow knocking into the perked ears of a different fellow sitting in the booth behind, to draw that mech to his pedes and give his accidental attacker a decent shiner.
And, well, as it was usually said, things just kinda devolved from there.
Seeing the entire bar erupt into one manic, fist-bashing competition out of the blue, Scattershot did what any sensible youngling would have in this situation: he threw himself into the pile with a delighted crow, kicking and swinging like a deranged spinning top.
The better part of a cycle later, the bar was finally clearing out; patrons holding their aching parts weakly and bemoaning their circumstances as the booze eased out of their systems. Scattershot, on the other hand, was grasped tightly about the cuff of his shirt and dragged to the door by the leaking bouncer.
The bartender, scratched-up face contorted in an ugly scowl, glared daggers at the youngling as he was held aloft by the hired thug. "Is this his?," she hissed, snatching a ragged backpack from another staff member's servos.
"Sure is," the bouncer answered.
"H-hey!," Scattershot yelled, wriggling wildly in the mech's tight hold. A useless effort, as the kittycon had him in a vice-like grip. The burgundy autodog's vocalizer went up another pitch as the mangled bartender ripped the zipper open so violently, distorting the teeth, before her clawed digits wrenched the whole mouth open and upended the bag's contents on the sidewalk below. "Hey, that's my slag! Don't you- GET YOUR SERVOS OFF MY CREDITS!"
The femme made a face in disgust as she swatted through the mess, snatching up any and all wayward notes. "It hardly puts a fragging dent in anything," she growled out, quickly re-counting the credits, as though that would change their value. Alas, she handed the dismal collection to her fellow staffer, rounding on the burgundy mechling with a dangerously sharp digit jutted outward. "I should throw you in a vat out back and beat ya 'til ya bleed credits! And if you EVER show your snotty, lil' spike-sucking face around my curb again, I'll see to it that your corpse gives me my dues- WITH INTEREST!"
There was a million and one things that Scattershot wanted to do and say. Like hork a great big, glob of mucus into the femme's clownish face. But given that his arms were kinda being twisted behind his back and most other idiots had faded into the dead cycles of night, leaving the youngling without a good cover to fall back on, he just clenched his dentae together tightly and returned the bartender's evil stare with one of his own. With a repulsed snort, the femme stormed off back through the leaning bar door, disappearing from sight as the bouncer finally released the german shepherd. Well, more like dropped the pup into the street.
Rubbing at his scuffed chin, Scattershot turned about and grabbed his torn backpack; kicking the rest of his fallen contents about as he flipped the older mech the finger. He didn't care about the mundane shit, and he didn't even care about the bouncer's sneer at his reaction. What really got Scattershot boiling was being robbed -straight up mugged!- by the bar staff, and then, losing any possible candidates for that night. Which meant his net worth for that evening was in the negatives. Fantastic!
Denting in the side of a trash can, the youngling stormed up the empty road, cursing and growling at all the dark faces of the buildings surrounding him. He could already imagine the conversation that was going to follow when he got in. Perfect-fragging-Lightspeed with his disappointment and pleading, along with Old-aft-grandsire-Nosecone in his tortoise-slagging speed of speech and matter-of-factness, sharing their unwanted opinions on their half-brother's lifestyle and preaching that he could be better. That he should be better. For their sake. For the twins', Afterburner and Strafe, sake. For his own sake. Just the thought of that miserable tirade of self-improvement coercion made Scattershot want to purge. Or break some shit.
Already burning with rage, aggression was the response the german shepherd chose.
A few kliks later, along with a pair of torn-up servos and energon-soaked knuckles, Scattershot finally turned his attention away from the cracked street pole, looking over the dark block with frustration. His assault on public property had barely put a lid on his feelings; instead, he felt both exhausted and restless, a contradictory concoction that made his whole sensory grid writhe inexplicably. A sound from behind the youngling had him spinning about, tenser than a coiled spring, fists rising in preparation- but he paused, staring stupidly as the serval from the bar continued his lumbering stroll on the opposite side of the street.
The brown kittycon went on his way, not needing to check his surroundings or even sparing a glance at the autodog standing there in a daze. Only when the stranger was reaching the intersection up ahead did Scattershot snap out of his stupor, sprinting across the single-lane road towards the unknown mech.
"Hey! HEY, WAIT!," he shouted, skidding around the corner. The german shepherd almost smacked directly into the other's back, but caught himself in the nick of time, bouncing back a pedestep or two. When confused, beady optics turned to face him, did Scattershot plaster a smile to his face, a servo held out in camaraderie. "Hey, fancy seeing you out here. I didn't really know what had happened to you after the whole scuffle; glad to see that you're still trucking along, dude!"
The kittycon was just staring, his expression absolutely befuddled. It was a reaction that kinda derailed the smaller mechling's confidence; his smile turning crooked as his servo dropped.
"U-um, you... you, uh, took the seat from that drunk mutt, remember?," he pressed, hopeful. "The idiot that tried to sucker-punch you? He wanted to mess me up for a freebie, but you kinda swooped in and put a stopper on that, so like, I gotta thank you, I suppose. It was cool of you. Also, wasn't that fight so dope?! Way better than the aftermath..."
A glimmer of recognition was making itself known in the serval's optics, the sight of it setting Scattershot's tail into a steady sweep behind him. "Oh...," the older mech rumbled.
His vocalizer had the sort of low-range and roughness to it that gave the youngling little shivers up and down his spinal struts in anticipation. He'd had a few, stellar clients who could match their servos with that aged gravel- it was just a shame that they weren't repeat ones. "Yeah, he was a colossal dumbaft. I mean, I can dig it if they're like, maybe cute-dumb, but he was totally like 'attic-space' upstairs, y'know? Bet he killed your night, like he did mine," Scattershot rambled, quickly double-checking their surroundings. So far, no interruptions seemed likely. "What brought you out this night anyway?"
"Couldn't sleep," the brown mech answered simply.
"Ah, same, same. So, hey," he cooed a little, the german shepherd taking a step toward the kittycon, chestplates pushed forward, "If you're not too busy, I'd be happy to show you a little bit more of my gratitude for shutting that jerk down. Buyer's remorse discount if I can't make you bust a nut in fifteen kliks!"
He winked up at the large serval, to really sell the prospect, a servo hooking in his belt loop and dragging his jeans an inch down his hips. Usually by this point, clients were running their optics over the youngling hungrily, their quirked lip components making unspoken, salacious promises.
Instead, the brown mech glanced about the dead street quietly, his helm canting slightly to one side as he turned his attention back on the autodog. "It's late. You should be home, where it's safe," he said neutrally, an arm raising over the disappointed Scattershot's helm. "The back alley connects to the warehouse district two blocks up."
Scattershot followed a fat claw's line of trajectory, marking the thick wall of shadows between a boarded up shop and a gated convenience store. "Listen, I appreciate the 'concern' and all," he grumbled sourly, helm snapping back around, "But I-"
The rest of the german shepherd's words tumbled out of his slacken mouth soundlessly, his optics flickering about the sidewalk in confusion. Despite his searching, the entire block remained empty; the kittycon had just straight up vanished! A little weirded out by the ninja-ing, Scattershot gripped his backpack strap in a tense fist and strode surely for the stranger's given directive, his processor ready for any unexpected interference. Sadly, though, the alley led him exactly where the serval had said it would, and the rest of his trip was equally as uneventful.
Even more annoying was the fact that the solitude gave the youngling way too much time to ponder on the magically-disappearing kittycon.
xxXxXxx
It was a warm, sunny orn in Iacon and Scattershot was currently hitting ignore on a call from Lightspeed.
Maybe thirty astroseconds later, another ring echoed up from his pocket.
The german shepherd took the phone out and hit ignore again.
Then a third call...
Fourth? Nope to that one too.
When the display next read 'Nosecone' is when Scattershot muted the whole device and shoved it back out of sight.
He refocused his attention on the quiet, beautiful suburban lanes, sipping at his soda as he strolled past. Being in a busy metropolis such as Iacon was aggravating some orns; too many 'bots, with their rainbow ideologies and fairy dust hopes, working on their 'perfect plans' that would grant them equally as wondrous lives. Just mentioning it was enough to make Scattershot gag. He couldn't stand the sugar-coated fantasy that Iaconians lived in. But when he was skipping out on classes at the local highschool, the youngling enjoyed running off to the snaking network of two-storey homes in the city's east end. Yeah, the houses were all the same, but it was still kinda pretty to look at, in their varied colours and glimmering lawn décor, and bonus: no one around for miles! Well, maybe a house spouse or two, but they never troubled Scattershot. Coming out to suburbia was a great way for the german shepherd to relax.
He especially appreciated not having to continuously look over a shoulder plating for a patrolling Enforcer.
But this time, his pastime wasn't doing what it usually did for the autodog. He could still feel the tension behind his optics and the further he walked in the manicured lawn labyrinth, the more his budding rage grew. Primus, what was wrong with him?! He should have packed up his belongings long ago before now; he already knew his way of life didn't mesh with that of his half-siblings! So, why the frag was he staying? To be punished and put on a curfew like an oversized sparkling?!
Scattershot crumpled his soda can up in a fist, chucking it wildly overhead. He heard it clatter on some roof tiles nearby, and jumpy with pent-up emotion, he took off running, not stopping until he was several blocks away from his starting location. Embarrassed and aggravated, he came to a stop beside one of many white, picket fences, cycling air heavily as he tried to get a hold on his rapidly-deteriorating patience. Stupidly, he thought of Afterburner and Strafe; the twins would be upset if he got punished again.
Groaning, the youngling sank to the concrete, helm dropping into his servos.
As much as he spat at their so-called 'family', he had certainly gotten a bit attached to the two younger mechlings in the short few months together. He hated the idea of disappointing them. But then, maybe he should have thought about that more earlier in the morning when he cursed Nosecone out and said he rather suck his spike than do dishes.
Still wrapped in his regret, Scattershot almost missed the sound of tin scraping across asphalt; his helm shot up, optics squinted through the glare of his visor to look across the street at the source of the noise. He sprang upwards when he saw it was that same, mysterious serval pulling two hefty trash cans to the sidewalk curb.
This time, the german shepherd wisely kept his mouth shut until he was almost in the stranger's driveway. "Hey! Hey, you!," he called out, jogging up to the puzzled mech. "Holy slag, I can't believe I found you here of all places! You better not say you forgot me; it's only been a week."
At first, the serval seemed confused, but as the youngling stepped up into his personal space, his expression turned to one of panic. He glanced frequently back at the house, a fat claw pushed to his sizeable mouth. "Ssh!," he said, loudly and like a sparkling. "Too loud! You're too loud!"
Scattershot was quickly becoming miffed. "What?," he questioned irritably, a finger jabbing into the kittycon's massive forearm. "Dude, it was just a fragging bar! And like, you started the fight too! Why you acting all skittish for? You got a wife you're trying to hide from?!"
The brown mech shook his helm, but his attention was already off of the autodog. Now he was getting mad, Scattershot thought. He was just about to grab the stranger by the collar of his shirt and raise some slag for being ignored, when the front door of the cute, three-storey house swung open and a friendly vocalizer called out.
"Brawl, have you finished with the garbage cans yet? Oh!," the third mech remarked. The autodog redirected his focus to find himself staring at another autodog! Now, that had Scattershot shuttering his optics in disbelief. Maybe it was a tad biased, but the german shepherd had certainly not expected a blue, dainty shih tzu -maybe half the kittycon's size- with a real nerdy appearance, to be the one behind the door. "Is this a new friend of yours, Brawl?"
The aforementioned Brawl was frozen in place, his dumb face caught in a look of discomfort. Painstakingly, he finally managed a pitiful nod. "Y-yes... mo-mommy...," he muttered, gaze dropping.
The youngling almost snapped a strut with how fast his helm snapped to the larger mech.
The other autodog paused, his brow furrowing as he looked from the serval to Scattershot and back again. "I... I'm sorry," he started sweetly, "But, how, might I ask, is it that you know Brawl?"
"Eh, just bumped into him once or twice about the place," Scattershot was quick to lie, servos lacing together behind his helm. "Parks and whatnot. Dude seemed alright. Just didn't expect to see him around here and so I like, came by. Saying 'hi', that's all."
The shih tzu seemed hesitant to dispute his claim, and the serval was being oddly demure to the burgundy autodog's left. Scattershot himself was confused. Should he even stay in this weird kink fetish or just bail?
Thank Primus that someone finally broke the awkward silence.
"Well, if you'd like Brawl," the other stranger said, his attention settling kindly on the brown mech, "Then you can bring your friend inside for some snacks. But only if you'd like." Tipping his helm respectably to the youngling, the shih tzu turned and disappeared back inside the house; leaving the door opened behind him a crack in invitation.
Scattershot moved to face the kittycon. "You gotta mommy thing, huh?," he blurted out tactlessly. "Yeah, I guess I can't really get on par with that. Shame though. I was kinda looking forward to taking you for a pony ride."
Brawl's face continued its queer contortions, servos dangling lamely by his sides. "...you have a backpack. You should be in school," he pointed out blandly.
The german shepherd scowled a bit at the clear dismissal. "Yeah, and you know what? I'm hungry. You should feed me, like your 'mommy' said," he retorted snidely.
To his surprise (and mild pleasure), the serval sighed, but took the youngling's wrist and pulled him up the path to his house anyhow. Score one for him, Scattershot quietly beamed.
xxXxXxx
It only took a couple more weeks of sneaking off to the serval's house for Scattershot to realize something.
"Dude, you're retarded."
The brown mech paused in rolling his massive trucks through the muddy backyard, his annoyed optics glancing up at the autodog. Scattershot ignored it. If he could get past the shock of seeing a giant middle-aged mech playing in the dirt like he was five stellar cycles old, than the kittycon could sure as slag get over him using names.
"No, like, legit," Scattershot continued, taking a short drag from his cygstick butt. "You are straight-up mentally disabled."
"...you shouldn't be doing that," Brawl replied, returning to his games with a huff of annoyance. "Daddy will be real mad."
The youngling hummed as he took another puff, releasing the smoke in one, fluid stream through his olfactory sensor. "Yeah, sure... Y'know, I honestly thought you were just really hardcore in your kink, but like, that poor sucker in the kitchen really is your mom, ain't he? Not by energon, I'm gonna say," he rambled aloud, flicking ashes into the grass and then grinding them out of sight between the blades. "He's clearly a step-mom. Can't believe that an autodog would let himself be bornling-trapped by someone with grown kids though. Handicapped ones, no less."
"You've got the handicap," the kittycon shot back under his intakes.
Scattershot opened his mouth to retort, but the sliding of the patio door had him jerking upright in his lawn chair. Too late he realized that he'd clenched the tiny cygstick between his fingers; he lay his servos in his lap, forcefully smiling at the shih tzu that walked towards him while the butt began to burn the plating of his palm.
"Are you boys having fun?," Skydive asked pleasantly, laying a tray of food and juice on the patio table.
"Super!," the german shepherd lied. Brawl continued to make weird engine sounds as he ignored them both.
Skydive for his part didn't seem perturbed by the serval's actions. "Okay then," he chirped. "Have fun, you two. Oh, and Brawl?" He paused, halfway through the doorway, waiting until the brown mech was looking up at him. "In half a cycle, I'm going to need to go get Dragstrip and Motormaster from preschool. You let me know if you want to come with me for the drive, yes?"
The kittycon nodded firmly and, smiling, the shih tzu finally left.
"FRAG!," Scattershot yelped, jumping to his pedes as the patio door was shut once again. He shook his servo about wildly, tromping on the fallen cygstick as he desperately attempted to blow on his aching wound. "That slag hurts!"
He didn't notice that his dimwitted companion had abandoned his trucks until Brawl was forcing an ice cube into the autodog's burnt palm. "Cold is opposite of fire," he rumbled nonsensically, fishing out another frozen rectangle from one of the glasses of juice. Scattershot didn't protest as it too was added to his palm, the serval folding his fingers over the frigid pieces.
Sure it stung just as slagging much as the faint hole in the middle of his servo, but it was better than staring at the sore while it bled beads of bright energon. It wasn't too much longer that the cold began to settle in, and it was, actually, quite effective. Staring at his palm in silent contemplation, the german shepherd looked up, finding Brawl chugging back his cup of muddy juice.
"...I'd say something, but honestly? I've had some nasty shit in my mouth, too," he sighed, plopping back into his seat and snatching a nut-and-jam sandwich off of the tray. At the serval's quizzical look, the youngling just shrugged.
"So, story time: I, maybe, more than kinda, had some... plans... in mind after your awesome lil' bar fight," Scattershot mumbled around a half-chewed bite. "Can you blame me? You're like a massive golem: all strength and roughness. Kinda hard not to dig that slag. And what with me being under lock-down these last several nights, I was almost lubing up at the idea of running into you on the side. But you're not exactly cluing into what I'm saying, are you? And what with you being retarded and all, I'm not so sure I'd even have fun. It'd just be the world's most pathetic pity-frag. You get what I mean?"
He vented hard, eyeballing his sandwich before taking another mouthful. "Still... For a half-processor dimwit, you've got some smarts to you. Can't believe I didn't think of the ice... Hey, are you even potty-trained? Some can't of you guys can't do that, right? Just asking."
When he looked up, it was to find Brawl scowling again.
"What?," Scattershot piped up casually. "Oh, you can't get mad. I'm just curious, is all!"
The serval still did not look impressed. "You have a dirty mouth."
The youngling snorted. "You're sounding a lot like my fragging brothers. Sorry," he corrected, rolling his optics behind his visor. "Half-brothers. Well, some of them. Can't really say they're all related, given the fact that our parents were a couple of slag-bags. And yet I'm the one whose the bad guy just 'cause I don't wanna play happy, sitcom family."
He shook his helm, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "Like, that sounds fragging insane, don't it?," he ranted, his attention fixed on his sandwich and not his companion. His tanks were still growling in want, but the german shepherd's appetite was rapidly fading. "I've been on my own for long enough; I know how to take care of myself. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but Helex was a lot more grounded than this slagging place. Everyone's so fragging delusional. It's all about 'family', and 'love' and 'togetherness'. Frag that slag! If Lightspeed or Nosecone died tomorrow, I wouldn't give a slag about them. Pit, it would probably make my life better for it!"
A large servo snapped around his injured hand, yanking Scattershot to his pedes with a muffled yelp. He tried to get his pedes sorted out beneath him, but Brawl was lifting him up into the air before he could; his expression stormy as he marched the both of them to the fence's gate.
"H-hey! Hey, what's the deal?!," the autodog snarled, free servo slapping the serval's forearm with little success. "Put me down, fragging retard!"
His wish was granted. Somewhat. Scrambling for a moment, the german shepherd managed to clamber back onto his pedes, glaring at the older mech over the fence gate that he had unceremoniously been dumped behind. He was unsettled to see that the kittycon was staring back with a look that was just as venomous.
"What the frag gives?!"
"You need to go now," was all that Brawl growled.
Scattershot kicked the gate. "Why the slag should I? You're the one being an aft!," he yelled. "I ain't no plaything to be thrown around! RETARD!"
The serval didn't deign to answer that time. Brawl stepped back away from the gate, effectively falling out of the youngling's line of sight. It wasn't long before Scattershot heard the patio door open and close again, as well. Shouting wordlessly to the sky, the autodog finally turned and stormed off.
xxXxXxx
"-the ninth time this month already, Nosecone. I just don't-"
It was dark in the condo; almost midnight, according to the ridiculously cartoony alarm clock sitting on the twins' nightstand. The late cycle meant that the whispers in the other berthroom echoed louder than intended.
"He's had a difficult beginning," Nosecone replied. His words were almost indiscernible with the slow and aged method in which he spoke; a weird tick for a mech that was barely thirty. "Fifteen stellar cycles of poor behaviour and lack of a support structure that would need to be corrected. Current psychological studies in sparkling reformative cycles dictate-"
"I know what the studies say!," the borzoi snapped. There was a pause in the conversation, Lightspeed's vocalizer continuing in a strained hiss. "I know the data; you've spouted it a hundred times by now! But you and I are not psychologists- you're an architect and I'm, well, I'm nothing."
"You are a student of Iacon's Collegiate of Vocational Learning. That is not nothing."
A short, frustrated huff from the younger autodog. "My point being that we are not in the skill set required to fix Scattershot or his problems. And the more he misbehaves, the more it reflects on the twins. We are skirting a very fine line already, Nosecone! We have another several decacycles to wait out before we can legally adopt Afterburner and Strafe. If we can't pass the social worker's test, we lose them to the system! Scattershot is frequently skipping school and selling himself out for cheap credits- how do you think that'll look at our next review, if they ever find out?!"
"...I," Lightspeed continued, his tone dropping despondently, "I-i understand the moral obligation, but it's not fair to the twins. We shouldn't have to risk tanking their entire future just because we decided to take on a defiant stray. Even if he is slightly tied to us by energon."
Lip components pressed tight around a half-finished cygstick, cycling the smoke in deeply.
"Are you suggesting we dump him in the streets again?," Nosecone's mumbled question came some, long astroseconds later.
The borzoi didn't respond immediately. "He's said it plenty: he rather be homeless than here."
The red, glaring lines of the alarm clock's face changed configuration, but the hushed discussion had seemed to stall entirely. No matter how hard his white ears perked, there was just the whispered deflection and then rustling, as each autodog began their nightly routine. Plumes of smoke curling around his chestplates as he vented hard, Scattershot watched distantly as his thumb twitched, dropping flecks of ash into the open toilet bowl. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that his older half-siblings were discussing getting rid of him -he had, after all, been driving them to that point- but he guessed he hadn't expected it to be done so underhandedly. Or something. The german shepherd wasn't really sure. He couldn't seem to get a grasp of his own feelings at that moment.
Movement sounded, closer than he expected, and the youngling threw his butt into the toilet hurriedly, fingers rubbing to cover up any ash that might remain. The berthroom didn't open though; instead, a white helm popped up around the door frame, two, ridiculously large, blue optics shuttering at him mutely through the dark.
At the sight of them, Scattershot unwittingly relaxed.
"What are you doing up?," he hissed lowly. "You've got school in the morning."
"So do you," Strafe whispered back, inching further into the bathroom. His curious optics zeroed in on the toilet as he quickly darted across the room, dropping to the floor and squishing into the space between the german shepherd and the wall.
As he had once before, Scattershot was astounded at how dangerously thin the appenzeller was. He was all white and scarlet plating just a couple inches thicker than his piping; an inevitable turnout, the older youngling thought, when you grew up on a barren farmstead in the Plurex Flats. Amazingly though, Strafe had a bright and gentle personality that contrasted against the alcoholic home he'd grown up in- though his crippling anxiety in tense situations certainly showcased his own abuse. Especially when Afterburner was having another one of his raging fits. Perhaps it was these giant flaws that drew Scattershot closer to the twins; his sire might have been his only connection to their 'family', but fragged-up beginnings had a great way of establishing connections when there were otherwise none. It almost made the german shepherd want to wrap an arm around the smaller autodog protectively.
He stubbornly withheld.
Strafe took the initiative to snuggle in close, his olfactory sensor wrinkling in mild disgust. "You stink," he said, a tiny giggle in his tone. Still, he raised his half-brother's limp arm and draped it around his other side, white helm resting on burgundy plating. "Don't those sticks taste gross?"
Scattershot made a short sound within his chestplates. "Not really. Well, maybe at first. Kinda got used to the taste after...eh...," he trailed off, realizing that he probably shouldn't mention that part of his life to the appenzeller.
"'Burn says you like letting lots of 'bots touch you. Speedy complains about it being dirty money," Strafe mumbled, his fingers slowly weaving with those of the older autodog. "... mum and da used to yell like that too, b-before..."
The burgundy mechling found his intakes stalling at the hesitant words.
"...I...I like h-having you for a brother... e-even if n-no one else d-does. S-so," his brother whimpered, "I-if y-you leave... p-please don't ha-hate us..."
He couldn't seem to cycle any atmosphere. Forcibly, Scattershot rose to his feet, numb digits pulling the smaller youngling up as well. "L-let's get you to sleep," he finally croaked out, avoiding the other's optics as he led them out of the en-suite bathroom and back into the master berthroom.
A twin bunk sat across the way from the bathroom; on their immediate right, a single wooden frame and a raggedy sleeping bag that the german shepherd used regularly. Ignoring his own berth for the time being, the taller mechling led the his half-sibling back to the bunk; shifting the blankets around as Strafe clambered back onto the lower mattress.
"Good night, C-shot," the appenzeller smiled, his optics still dimmed sadly as he looked up at the autodog tucking him in. "Sweet dreams."
"Hey, those are your things. No way I'm stealing those from you, angel-face," Scattershot returned, his mouth quirking upwards in one corner. Strafe giggled as his olfactory sensor was tapped gently, rolling over and offlining his optics as he passed out within astroseconds.
Even after the younger autodog had fallen asleep, and the german shepherd had returned to his own berth, recharge did not come to the burgundy mechling. Instead, he found himself staring into the small scar forming in the centre of his palm as the cycles ticked away, until dawn's early light slipped through the condo's windows.
xxXxXxx
They orn had started out quiet enough. For once, Scattershot hadn't bothered to reply to Lighstpeed's nagging or Afterburner's taunts, actually helping to get everyone rounded up for school. Of course, he'd emptied the emergency jar and the oldest autodog's wallet as he was getting off the subway with the twins, but he'd managed to attend an entirety of two classes before bailing. He'd spent the remainder of the orn roaming around the city, dodging truancy Enforcers and generally wasting times as the youngling tried to figure out his next plans. It was time he left, the german shepherd reasoned, but to where...?
He had half a processor to know not to go back to a dead-end place like Helex. What was he going to do once he got 'too old' for his clients' liking? Get a job in the factory, like all the other slack-jawed zombies? Definitely not. Staying in Iacon just grated though: it was a pretty-painted sham with stupid rules and even dumber citizens. Neither were his home.
As the last of the evening rush died down, and the lights dimmed outside the entertainment district, Scattershot found himself keeping to the alleys and shadowed doorways. Mindlessly wandering. Twice now his servo had slipped into his pocket to reach for his phone, only to yank it back out with a scowl. He'd purposefully left the cell back in Nosecone's condo; he wasn't going to need it if he was leaving anyway. As he noticed his servo reaching for the absent-device a third time, the german shepherd growled; twisting about on the dimly-lit sidewalk and storming off to the east. Frag it, even if he didn't have a location in mind, Scattershot could still get on an intercity bus and put some miles between him and this shoddy metropolis. He was dead set on his decision, but as he marched through the city's night life, the burgundy youngling took a hard left from the bus depot's intersection, winding his way back to the eerily silent suburbs.
"...this is stupid...," Scattershot muttered to himself; his pedes moving at a snail's pace. "...he's just a big, fragging, diaper-wearing, dipstick. And he threw me over a fence."
Despite his mumbled tirade, the autodog still found himself slowly approaching the yellow-sided house; servos touching hesitantly on the picket fence as he gazed up into the blackened windows. If he turned around right now, he'd be able to add a couple more cycles to his travel time before Lightspeed or Nosecone called in a missing person report. Besides, it wasn't like the serval was going to care if he took off...
No manner of logic could keep the german shepherd from hopping the fence and walking around the yard. He was ever aware that if someone looked outside right then and there, they'd see his suspicious aft, tip-toeing around to the back gate. Still, Scattershot kept going. He'd managed to scale the gate with relative ease and was confident that no one had clocked his presence yet-
Until he rounded the back of the house and was slammed to the ground.
A sickening wheeze leaving his vents, Scattershot tried to plant his servos under him and push up; finding with terror that he couldn't shift the weight crushing him. At his feeble attempts, a vocalizer chuckled- cruel and all levels of twisted and nothing like he had heard before. He opened his mouth to shout when long fingers curled around his neck cables, flipping the german shepherd over with another plating-denting slam. A whimpering snarl left the youngling then, limbs striking out ferociously to put some distance between himself and the unknown mech. Optics went bright and wide as a large servo shot past his defense, covering his olfactory sensor and mouth tightly, the form of a lanky lynx blotting out his view of the moon above.
The sight of a bloody visor over curling lip components chilled Scattershot to the spark, though not nearly to the extent of those insidious fingers slipping over the waist band of his pants.
"Hmm, you seem... familiar...," the kittycon purred, somehow still retaining that vicious grin as he did. "Oh, yes... Brawlie's lil' friend! You know, I'd thought ya'd be a lot more of a looker up-close. Instead you've got the face of an over-used fluid sack on the way to expiring. Where he ever met a loose-plated slut like you, I'll never know. Shame that daft oaf doesn't even understand what a spike is."
The grey mech tutted condescendingly, his gaze shifting for a moment. "And what's this? A backpack!," he gasped, in mock surprise. "Was the poor, fugly pup thinking of running off? What, didn't he belong with his quaint, idiot family?"
He wanted to punch the laughing fragger in the face. Instead, Scattershot was too busy pounding on the lynx's wrist and forearm, in a desperate urge to break the stranger's hold and cycle fresh intakes. Why wasn't the slagger reacting to anything that he did?!
"Probably not," his attacker continued, the light of his visor narrowing with delight as fingers tightened around the autodog's waist. "Goodie~! It's been a while since I was allowed to go to have any real fun!"
The edges of the youngling's vision were going black, optic sensors rolling about in a wet, disorientated panic; his punches fumbling into blind slaps against the kittycon's plating. In his spiraling state, Scattershot almost didn't notice when the lynx finally released his strangle-hold on the autodog. A relief that lasted about twenty astroseconds. A sick, clutching gurgle bubbled out of Scattershot's mouth, his servos spazzing uselessly before his chestplates. At the sound, the grey mech pressed in close, folding his poor victim's legs up into his torso.
A ghoulish wisp of a wheeze was all that escaped the german shepherd; the broken ribbing in his chestplates from where his assailant had punched him, with the crushing pressure of his own knees being shoved into the dented plating, prevented any other sound from forming. Scattershot wanted nothing more than to glare at the kittycon and give him slag in return. Sadly, the agony of his broken frame and declining intakes left him vulnerable as the smiling sicko melded against the youngling's deformed curve. He couldn't even flinch away from the slimy glossa as it licked up the sides of his still gasping mouth.
"Delicious," the lynx hissed against a white ear, long fingers curling around the autodog's thin neck cables again. "I'm going to-"
Pain erupted from the youngling's left. His optics fluttered online, processor still reeling from the hard reboot. Nothing made sense to him: not the chill on his frame, not the shadows twisting out of reach of his servos, nor the elongated walls of the yellow house he could see through the cracks in his visor. The german shepherd felt amiss in his own plating.
Until his damaged internals struggled on his next intakes and he collapsed into darkness once more, writhing the whole way down.
xxXxXxx
Scattershot woke in the hospital a few orns later, following some sort of mugging.
At least, that's what everyone else had told him. He barely recalled the first five orns or so; floating in and out of consciousness and a couple surgeries to help restructure his collapsed torso. He remembered the grey lynx though; clips from his archives playing at the forefront of his mind in the dead cycles of night, tormenting him with his weakest moment. He fragging hated that kittycon! His half-brothers had been in and out between it all: checking up on his status with vets, talking with Enforcers, leaving gifts and generally trying to make small talk with the burgundy autodog. Scattershot never said a word against it; didn't even make a whispering suggestion about the real events of that night. He couldn't quite bring himself to say it just yet, but he felt as horrible as Lightspeed looked whenever the lot of them showed up. Upset and guilty and so desperate to not make it worse.
It had been particularly hard to see Strafe and Afterburner's expression the first time they'd swung by. Primus, was that hot-helmed youngling such a weeper.
It was, Scattershot reluctantly realized, his wake-up call. He might have grown up alone and unwanted, with only his own consequences to bear, but not anymore. For better or for worse, he had 'bots that actually wished to be his family; who cried when he was badly injured and who apologized profusely, even when what had happened wasn't their fault at all. Sitting in his hospital room as the city darkened once more, and the lights in the ward dimmed for the night shift, the german shepherd found himself propped up in his berth. His attention glued to the thumb stroking the burn scar in his palm while he thought.
Slag... He was so lucky.
The youngling dropped his helm back on his mountain of pillows, jerking slightly at the shadow in his doorway. It pulled on his still-healing injuries; both arms carefully caging his chestplates as the autodog wheezed through a series of gruesome coughs. It took considerably less time than earlier in the week for Scattershot to regain control over his intakes. Looking back up, he was surprised to see that the intruder had yet to move nor fade from existence.
"...t...t-this is real, then, huh?," he mumbled hoarsely.
The big serval sidled through the open doorway mutely, his gaze flickering to the german sheperd then the empty hall beyond the door, and back again, in several rotations. It was eerily silent in the ward; the nurses had seemed to disappeared entirely and all other sounds from patients had fallen. All the same, Brawl quickly shut the door and locked it. Well, Scattershot thought, the big oaf was definitely twitchy. But what did that mean for him, he pondered, optics tracking the older mech's shuffle across the room. Was he in danger also, this very moment?
The youngling didn't realize he was so tense until Brawl had plopped himself into the only empty chair in the room; legs creaking as they bowed slightly beneath the larger 'bot as burgundy shoulders settled easily on his pillows once more.
Then... nothing.
Scattershot's optics jumped up to the analogue clock mounted over the room's doorway, following the circular rotations of the red stick twice over, before turning his helm back to the still-quiet kittycon. All was the same on Brawl's end. Carefully, the autodog pressed the buttons on his gurney's sidearm, tossing the blankets off his legs and twisting to let them dangle off the sides. It was still sore on his frame to be fully seated like this, but he managed, fingers snapping weakly at his companion.
"Hey... You don't happen to have a cygar, do you?"
Brawl finally looked up from his fidgeting claws, optics shuttering stupidly at the smaller mech.
"Eh... y'know?," Scattershot added, miming smoking, "A cygstick? Cygar? The slag you roll up in papers and smoke?"
The serval scowled, shaking his helm. "That's bad for you," he chastised. "Daddy says it fills your intakes with tar. And it stinks."
The german shepherd scratched an ear self-consciously. "U-um... yeah, it does. Listen, it's on my to-do list, okay? I just... I've had some time to think while I've been in here. I mean, what else is there, right?" Scattershot gave a short chuckle, wincing as it pulled at his bandages. "Bad idea...," he mumbled, glancing towards the older mech. "Anyways, I... I wanted to start with I'm sorry. To you, that is."
Brawl stiffened in the chair, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"See, I think I get why you went all aggro on me the other week," the youngling continued, "And it was because, as per usual, I was running my big ol' mouth again. I said some nasty slag about my own brothers and suggested some things about your family, that rightly I had no right to be touching. It was... I-i was... in a royally fragged up place, mentally. My whole life so far has always been get them, before they get you. Connections are... j-just burdens that drag you down. That's why I was... I was gonna just leave that night. Was gonna book it out of this cursed city and just... go... somewhere. I just wanted to like, leave a little note or something at your place to say it simply a-and... a-and this would be so much easier to get out with a fragging drink or something, y'know?!"
He took off his visor -to both pretend that the serval wasn't there and to rub at his rapidly heating optics- and managed to drop it in his hurry.
Cursing lowly, Scattershot began to slip off the berth to begin his blind search, but was gently put back on the mattress by two, warm servos on his hips. "Here," Brawl's shadow mumbled, the edges of his visor pressing into the autodog's fingers.
Quickly, he grasped the metal, sliding it back on his face. "T-thanks," he stammered, looking down at the floor.
Brawl was doing nothing but standing on his left, as massive and imposing as a mountain.
"...I-i... I guess I g-gotta thank you also," Scattershot croaked, eager to move past this embarrassment. "F-for, uh, dealing w-with that fragger that c-caught me unaware. I s-saw it, by the way. J-just before I blacked out completely. Lo-looked like you were really g-giving that mech what for."
Something popped, and when the german shepherd turned his helm to see, he found himself staring at a trembling serval. His face, though, spoke of a different connotation for his shaking. "...Tex... Tex is a meanie," he snarled, his optics burning with vitriol as they glared into the ground, "E-ever since old mommy ran away. None of my brothers are nice to me no more, but Tex is the worst. He always make fun of me and makes all my things disappear. I love him the littlest."
That was a surprising bud of information to reflect on. "...slag, you've had some rough sparkling years too, huh?," Scattershot said, a servo patting awkwardly on the other's forearm. He tried not to wince at the kittycon's own flinch; servos (and gaze) dropping hurriedly into his lap. "S-so... we've established I'm an idiot and an aft. Guess my karma was having my slag beat back into me by your brother."
The berth groaned as Brawl dropped onto the remainder of its length. "He shouldn't have hurt you. I should have been faster to help," he growled out, fangs bared wide and fists threatening to tear at his jeans. "I-i... I hate what he did."
The german shepherd heard his neck cables pop as his helm snapped towards the older mech suddenly, optics flared brightly in shock behind his visor. He didn't even get the chance to pry his mouth open to speak, before the brown kittycon was rifling inside his coat blindly, yanking an item out and thrusting it into Scattershot's own numb arms in one, jagged motion. He nearly fell right off the berth when the youngling saw that it was a small, pink bear plushie tied with red ribbon around a box of chocolates.
"Y-you... you're u-upset you didn't... p-protect me?," he mumbled in a daze.
Out of the corner of his peripheral, he saw the serval nod.
His spark pulsed heavily at that, his whole neural net sizzling in mild discomfort. "...y-you... you re-really s-shouldn't h-have, dude. I-i m-mean, i-it's... i-it's nothing that t-the Enforcers c-couldn't ha-handle... r-right?"
"Daddy says no Enforcers," Brawl replied. "He kills people for money. So I broke Tex's arms and face instead."
Living in an amoral lifestyle in Helex, Scattershot didn't even question the ambiguity of murdering 'bots. His face did erupt into an inferno though at the fact that someone had been grievously injured on his behalf. The autodog apparently was quiet for too long though, because his larger companion turned about to face him, brown features twisted up in apprehension.
"...a-are... are you scared of me now?," the big lug practically whispered.
"K...k-kinda the opposite actually," the youngling answered, one side of his mouth quirking upwards in an awkward smile, "If I'm being super blunt, I t-think I kinda l-like you a lot more. Like, exclusive-put-your-spike-in-me-with-no-fees-for-a-lifetime like you, l-like you."
The german shepherd quickly dropped his gaze back to the floor. "S-sorry. I probably shouldn't s-say slag like that when you don't understand. It's r-really stupid and-"
"I know what you mean."
The small, gentle statement completely blindsided Scattershot. Servos shaking, his optics slowly made their way back up to bashful serval; large shoulders hunched around his helm and claws fidgeting around themselves as he shyly met the autodog's gaze.
"...p-people tease, b-but I'm not so little o-or broken. I know things. T-tex likes to leave his bad books and videos around t-too... They're gross," Brawl mumbled, olfactory sensor wrinkling in disgust at some unknown memory. His expression changed from revulsion to embarrassment quickly though, his attention slipping to his rolling thumbs. "B-but I... I t-think o-of them s-sometimes... a-and you... a-and it's no-not so gross. Tex is s-stupid too: y-you're very pretty."
"...i-is that okay? T-to think that?," he whispered imploringly.
Yep, he was totally blushing now, Scattershot quietly admitted to himself, his chesplates sore as his spark continued to swell in its chamber and his tail sweeping the sheets behind them. Out of all the things he expected of his life (or never expected, to be more honest) having a family and getting a crush on someone was definitely not on the list. "Y-yeah," he gushed, a hesitant servo reaching out to the serval. The youngling thought he was going to start bouncing when fat claws met him halfway, clutching gently at the smaller digits. "I-if you're cool w-with my feelings, t-then I'm super chill w-with yours. We c-can try this thing out together; a-as slow as you like too, p-promise. And I won't call you no more names, either, Brawl."
Brawl didn't reply verbally. Instead, he inched closer to the burgundy mechling, chin nuzzling into the soft, white ears. Scattershot leaned against the serval's arm in turn, optics slowly shuttering as a purr echoed upwards from the kittycon's warm frame.
C.M.D: Aaaaaaaand that's it. Just another, lil' gratuitous oneshot for no reason other than I can and I enjoy dabbling in this universe. YES, I MAY HAVE SEPERATION ISSUES! SO SUE ME!
Anyways, hope you enjoyed the fluff! Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?