Chapter 11: A Promised Burden
Across the darkness of space, far from a blue gem of a world circling a golden star, was the story of another youngling desperately trying to keep his own secret. Though he, not unlike Bluestreak, found that fate just kept reeling him back in. He could not escape his fate so easily even though he was bound and determined to try. He had secrets he wanted to keep.
"No, no, no! Let me go!" cried Hot Rod as he squirmed in the back passenger's seat of the space ship's cockpit, having nearly escaped again from the small living quarters of the ship during Crosshairs and Blades brief conversation with Prowl. As usual, Blades had been sent out to retrieve the trouble maker and had tied Hot Rod to a seat for good measure this time. Springer merely shifted uncomfortably in his own seat as Hot Rod tried to kick his elder.
"Oh, I don't think so trouble maker. You two are in some heaping slag, creeping off like that … And then escaping, and then escaping again. If you weren't such a pain in the aft, I'd be impressed," said Crosshairs as he waved his hand about at the small vessel's controls, not even bothering to look back.
"Hey, I was only following him to make sure he didn't get himself dead. Don't bunch me together with him," defended Springer, his copter blades twitching as Blades came in and slapped him in the back of the helm. It was a signaled for him to sit back down. Unlike the resident escape artist, neither one was really worried about the older youngling. Though they hadn't said so, they believed his story.
"Oh, and you two aren't trouble?" barked Hot Rod as he stopped trying to kick his elder, ignoring the other youngling's comment. "Both of you should want to be as far from authority figures as possible, and yet we are heading back to not only the death place of Megatron, but the last known Prime!"
The green mech chuckled, giving Blades a look. "Well, Prime is calling everyone to that dirt ball regardless, and if we can get into Primes good graces, well … maybe Ultra Magnus will stop giving us crap assignments."
Springer, who was just sitting there calmly as Hot Rod withered in his seat, couldn't help but pipe up, "You mean like finding us?"
The green mech stalled for a moment, his face gaining a wince as he pulled his goggles up. "Ugh, I suppose it was, wasn't it? Well, at least I got off of that ship. It was like putting baby in a box. You can't put baby in a box. No sir. I just like taking commands from me, myself and I."
Blades merely snorted, grumbling underneath his breath, "Well, maybe if you stopped sexually harassing Magnus we wouldn't get such crap assignments."
"One time! One time and it was an accident," defended Crosshairs. "He just couldn't take a totally wasted Autobot's sense of humor when I told him his chest was big. Frag, I thought he was a femme."
The two younglings in the back both cringed at that, Hot Rod slamming his helm against the back of his chair as he cried out, "Ugh, so … disgusting. Honestly, I think I threw up in my mouth a little with that comment. In fact, I need to clean out my mouth and lubricate and … take Springer with me."
Crosshairs snorted and Blades frowned, growling, "But I just tied you up really good! And why do you need Springer anyway? Does he need to watch? Do you need help? Is it … a romantic thing?"
"What? NO!" cried Springer looking mortified.
Hot Rod, mouth open as if he was about to deny it as well, actually clamped his mouth shut, his words a question, "… If I said yes, would you let me take him?"
"What?!" barked Springer, anger quickly forming on his features. Lately, he had to be the calm and rational one of the two and he was getting fraggen sick of it, and this was starting to be the last straw. He knew he had promised not to question Hot Rod, but this was becoming too much. "You better be joking or you are so slagged!"
"Oh yes, please inform us all, because I don't think Springer is ready for that type of commitment," chuckled Crosshairs, loving every minute of this. "Here I thought we had finally cleaned you out of lock picking tools and you were going to ask for Springer's, but perhaps I am incorrect. So please … enlighten us."
Hot Rod, sitting there a moment as everyone stared at him in a strained silence, drummed his fingers against his chair for a moment as if weighing the pros and cons of each answer. Then, looking at Springer (who was cracking his metallic knuckles at this time), he wearily answered, "Yessss?"
"Oh, you are so deactivated!"
"Ehakkk! Not the face, not the face!"
"Hey, hey! Don't make me come back there! Crosshairs, stop laughing! Springer, stop strangling your fellow Autobot right now. Youngling, youngling!"
…
"Just so you know … this is all your fault," growled Springer from his berth, the mech's face still dripping with faint traces of energon from the brawl that had occurred in the control room. "And now they are using stasis cuffs like we are common criminals. Is this what you want, Hot Rod?! Huh? The reason I wasn't putting up a fight was because I wanted leniency for us, but you had to go and make that comment. I know I promised never to ask you why you were running away, but I thought it was for something stupid, like for a pretty femme or to dress up as a Con and go get wasted in one of their colonies, but not that. Or was that a lie as well? I'm presuming it was since you still haven't given me a spark-felt confession of love, but I can't slaggen deal with this!"
Hot Rod, energon still dribbling down the side of his helm from an accidental elbowed to the face, laid on his berth, staring at the ceiling in a forlorn manner. He was unable to look at the bars that separated them. It seemed that Blades had decided to take a long term route to making sure they didn't escape the tiny cells of the ship's brig. He welded the locks shut. He had to give his elders kudos on that … he didn't think he was going anywhere now.
He couldn't hide from it now.
Despite himself, despite the cell being so small there was barely enough room, Hot Rod curled up in a ball up. He wanted to hide his distress from his oldest friend, yet an upset click escaped him, his fans hiccupping as he tried to keep as quiet as possible. He just wanted to cry until his spark snuffed itself out.
Springer, sighing, offlined his optics at first as he tried to ignore the other's breakdown. He barely lasted a klick before he broke down and apologized, "Okay, okay, I am sorry I snapped at you and punched you in the face. I'm sorry I got us locked in the brig for probably the next few groons until we get to planet Dirt or whatever it's called. Even though I still feel me being upset is completely in my rights to feel so, I'm sorry. Now please stop crying. You know I can't handle weeping. It makes me feel all … twitchy. J-just stop, please?"
Hot Rod, if only encouraged by his friend's words, found himself blubbering even louder. So much so, he was sure that soon one or the adults would be in to see what was wrong. He honestly didn't want that, especially if it was Crosshairs. He had the bedside manner of a Con, yet he couldn't quiet himself. He just hiccupped even more.
Frag, why couldn't he just shut himself up?
A heavy sigh escaped the berth next to him. Springer likely was sitting up awkwardly with his cuffs on as he leaned toward the bars that separated the two of them. His words dug in deep, "This isn't entirely about me punching you in the face or getting us caught, is it?"
Still trying to hold in his pathetic display, Hot Rod slowly nodded, unable to turn around and look at the other Autobot.
Huffing through his vents, shifting uncomfortably, Springer spoke softly just in case someone was listening against the door, "Are you finally going to tell me? Are you finally going to tell me why you ran away? What was so terrible that you couldn't even tell Kup … or me?"
A shaking whine escaped the younger mech, and then with a slowness that usually did not belong to Hot Rod, he sat up and gave the other a heart broken look. Then, a keen catching in his throat, he choked, "I-I couldn't tell him, because he would disown me. I-I couldn't take him being a-ashamed of me. I-I know I'm always saying I don't really care what h-he thinks, but I do. I really do. H-he's the closest thing I have to a creator."
Watching the other hiccup and choke on his own fluids was piteous and yet Springer had never seen his friend this bad. Yet, he wasn't ready to give up on a chance for answers. So he asked, "And still you ran away? What could possibly be worse than being a deserter anyway?"
Struggling to gain some of his composure, he murmured, "Before I tell you. You have to promise you won't hate me. You have to promise."
Springer, sitting back slightly in surprise, sat there a moment as he dwelt on the other's plea. Then, nodding slowly as if it was the stupidest request in the universe, he murmured, "Of course. I might want to strangle you sometimes, but we grew up together. There is nothing you could have done that would make me hate you. Perhaps make me want to punch you in the face, but not hate you."
Hot Rod actually chuckled at that, a sad smile on his face as he calmed somewhat. And yet, he asked in the saddest of tones, "You have to promise."
Frowning, finally noticing he hadn't exactly said 'I promise', Springer nodded his head. "I promise."
Releasing a shaky vent, his sorrowful fit seeming nearly spent if only from exhaustion, Hot Rod raised a hand and started tugging on a decorative piece of metal that he had recently added to his helm. Springer hadn't thought much of it honestly, just that it looked tacky, until he watched it slide off. Hot Rod then refused to meet Springer's optics as the other mech looked at the symbols on his helm. Most helm symbols were generally carved into a mech's helm to tell a tale, like the mech's creators or caretakers or sparkmates. It was basically their name and all it entitled if one wanted to be traditional about it. The reason it started at all, why they even still did such a thing, was because sometimes there were a few mechs or femmes that just had symbols appear on their helms. Characters. The religious said were engraved by Primus himself. The Primes were the most notable mechs and femmes to have these natural symbols as well as their royal guards or spiritual leaders.
Frag, even the Lord Protector fell into that category.
In fact, everyone knew what that symbol looked like, what the Lord Protector's symbol was. And there, where Hot Rod had been hiding it from sight, he could see symbols. They were faint and not fully revealed yet, as if they were slowly growing into his helm, but they looked very much like those haunting words 'Lord Protector'. True, ancient Cybertronian was something he didn't know himself, but there was no doubt in his mind what it was going to say.
Placing a hand over his mouth, if only to hide his expression, Springer twitched again as Hot Rod covered his face and started clicking again. Springer struggled for the right words to say.
"I-eh … I'm sure it doesn't say what you think it does. Only the royal guards and Primes and other figures like that read it anymore. It's probably some crappy position like-like a Priest of Primus or something like that. In fact, I can barely read it. Maybe it's nothing at all," tried to comfort Springer, not knowing what else to say.
Hot Rod, lifting his head, looking entirely pathetic as his optics flashed in the equivalent of tears for their kind, choked, "That's because I was trying to sand it off, but it hurt so fraggen bad and it just started coming back faster and faster … I just didn't think I could hide it anymore, especially since Kup kept demanding I take off the decorative metal pieces since he was worried that it would mess with my transformation sequence."
Springer, his hands becoming fists and the unfolding, struggled to find the right thing to say until he muttered, "We still can't read it. It could be -"
"It showed up the day he offlined," finally wailed Hot Rod, loud enough to at least bring one of their babysitters running. "I had just noticed it when we received news that Megatron was offline. I hadn't thought much of it since it just looked like a blemish, but why else would it show up the day he offlined? Of course that's what it reads! I don't want to be like him! Prime will kill me. I know he will when he finds out. I don't want to be a monster, Springer. I don't want to be like him."
Springer shook his head, trying to deny the worry as much as Hot Rod. "Optimus Prime would never hurt us … or you."
Hot Rod, reaching for the helm decorations as footsteps echoed outside the door, whispered, "You don't know that."
Then, barely getting his covers back on, he turned his head just in time to see Crosshairs (oh, why did it have to be Crosshairs) enter the room, the green mech cringing when he noticed Hot Rod's optics and hiccupping vents. He even took a step back in disgust. It was just so obvious that he had been crying.
"Now what's going on here?" said Crosshairs, frowning. "Do we have to separate you two further?"
Springer, catching the horrified look on Hot Rod's features as if he was going to tell, quickly spoke, "N-no, we were just talking about planet Dirt or whatever it's called, and-," Springer's next words were hard, his gaze more at Hot Rod than Crosshairs, "...Optimus Prime wouldn't hurt us, would he?"
Crosshairs, though a tough and somewhat selfish mech, was still an Autobot. The words startled him causing him to frown deeply as he came over to Hot Rod's cell. His words were strangely soft and comforting as he placed a hand upon Hot Rod's helm through the cell bars, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. "Come now kid. Prime, or most likely Prowl, will punish yah, there is no doubt, but he won't hurt you. He'd never do that to a youngling. Now, calm down and get some rest. I'll check on you later, kay?"
Hot Rod, unable to look at the other, merely nodded as the green para-trooper let go and turned to leave. Hot Rod's words were soft, bitter even. "You can't promise that."
If Crosshairs heard him, he didn't say anything.
XXX
Paw07: Long time no see. Anyway, we finally found out what happened with Hot Rod and why he abandoned Kup. If any of you even remember that plot element to begin with? Anyway, got some more drama in the mix and who knows how long they can keep everything under wraps before it explodes in everyone's faces. And yes, Bluestreaks and Hot Rods tales will be colliding so I do hope no one deeply hates Hot Rod. ^^;
(Revisions February 2016)