That's the real punishment
Inspired by an anonymous prompt that had "DJD" and "cleaning" in the same post...
Tarn hissed under his mask, then braced himself for what was about to come. This was his fault, and now all his team will have to bear the consequences.
„Helex, are you ready?"
„I won't be readier than now" was the resigned answer.
Oh. Good. At least Helex had not yet held it against him that 'educating' Starscream was his idea. His brilliant idea that earned the fearsome Division's most humiliating task ever.
Not that he hadn't understood the other explanation as well. Sixshot, although he wasn't above suspicion since that fiasco with the Reapers, still counted as the most reliable in his category. And a phase-sixer should be presentable all the time and should not be stinking that horrible Blot-smell every time he is summoned. The only solution was getting to the root of the problem and washing away the stink Megatron would no longer tolerate.
The Division approached the Terrorcons in the direction of the wind, because the torture specialists weren't too eager to torture themselves. But not even this had entirely saved them from the reek.
Once Tarn told the team why they came, the other four were all too eager to let their gestalt member be taken by the stronger and lot more specialized group. Blot had resisted, of course, and he plead with them, and attempted to get away, and then he was fighting back, etc, etc. Nothing the tough DJD members couldn't manage, as long as they were holding their noses with the other hand.
Nevertheless, Kaon insisted that he had to stay behind and keep guard until the others were done with Blot. His otherwise well-trained and loyal sparkeater had long since torn himself free and had rallied back to the welcoming atmosphere of the Peaceful Tyranny.
Tesarus was holding the victim with one large hand, keeping the stinking mech away from himself as far as possible. He was also careful to deactivate his built-in grinders: if just one tiny piece of the smelly Terrorcon's metal somehow got in contact with his blades, it would be real pain to sterilize them. For the first time in his existance, Tesarus considered his masticators to be far too sharp and far too many.
He grabbed the wobbling mechanism and submerged him in the nearby river. It took Tarn quite some time to lure the Terrorcons to a planet with ample water on it, but without such precaution, this mission would have been sheer impossible. Not to mention that Helex would have killed them if they placed Blot inside him without rinsing him first. Tarn still wasn't sure he wouldn't kill them later.
Blot was screaming, of course, but Tesarus mercilessly submerged him into the river and held him down until the dead fish started to come up in the current. But then, there was one problem: he was holding Blot by the right shoulder, and even that had to be rinsed. He lifted the ogreformer out from the flow, considering holding him by the left shoulder with the other hand.
No, wrong idea. One stinking hand was enough. Tesarus risked the target getting away, but he released Blot for a moment so that he could grab him by the left shoulder with the same dirty hand.
The second Blot's head was above the water, he started screaming. Primus knew his breath was as bad as his outer plating! The red cross on Tesarus's face wrunged into a horrible grimace. Then he submerged the Terrorcon for the second time.
When his part was mostly done, he pinned the thrumming mech to a rock on the shore as Tarn dutifully took a fistful of the desinfectant mixture Helex brought with himself. He couldn't see his leader's face behind the mask, but maybe it was for the better.
As the solvent came in contact with Blot's already soaked frame, the Terrorcon gave a terrified cry, one far louder than what the battle-hardened mechs of Justice could tolerate.
"Vos, won't you hold his face with yours?" Helex screamed.
The linguist replied in Primal Vernacular that he WON'T. His face was full with delicate drillers and pins and if those were to ever come in contact with the reeking wreck, he would never be able to wear his own face again. It would add to the quality of torture for the next victim, he admitted, but this was a sacrifice he was not willing to make. Kaon, from the safe distance, backed Vos up: if the gunformer were to wear a face that's stinking from the inside, he would never ever hold him in gun mode. Vos would have to fire himself.
Meanwhile, Tarn silently endured. Oh, why did he have to set his optics on the ever-troublesome Starscream, oh Primus, why? He should have known that the Seeker was off limits for them. No apology would take away this sin. Now he had to suffer. He meticulously cleaned Blot's armor. Under the unidentifyable organic matter, dark blue metalloskeleton could be seen.
"Now this started to look like something" Tesarus noted. "I might as well start believing the rumors that there is a Cybertronian under all this slag."
"I know I might be late saying this, but if we have kept just a small amount of the mass on him, we could have used it as a highly potent fumigating material" Kaon mused. "It would be very useful in certain situations."
"And Gideon's Glue would be only referred to as the second worst chemical the Decepticons ever used" Tarn nodded. "But if the flasks would ooze, the weapon would affect its carrier as well. Not even a K-class would accept that risk."
When they were done, Tesarus rinsed the Terrorcon in the river again. The trees on the lower part of the shore started to turn brown and dry out.
"What do you think, Helex?"
"Let's get through this fast."
The humiliated and properly washed Blot was hanging from Tesarus's cleaner left hand, too weak to even protest. But when he saw that these horrible mechanisms were going to stuff him into an entire pool of disinfectant, he found hes voice. He screamed, he begged. He offered to be a good mech and to take a bath on his own every fourth quartex. Every third, he offered as he saw the terrifying mess of warm solvents right under his feet. A bath every second quartex, he screamed when the liquid had reached his toes. His last offer was a bath in every twenty orns, but not even he would have believed he was willing to do that.
Helex's translucent dome covered him. Blessed silence, the Division members sighed. Tesarus knelt down beside the river and started rubbing his hands as vigorously as he could.
Inside Helex, the warm solvents imbued Blot's every joint, every fissure, every gap in and under his plating, every chink in his armor, every wrinkle between his faceplates. When the dome finally opened, an entirely different mech rose from there: one clean and tidy and not reeking at all. His armor was shining in dark blue with black decor, and even his footsteps were sweet like the scent of a car refresher.
"All right, we're done here" Tarn announced with a relieved sigh.
"I hope we will never have to do this again" Vos said in Primal Vernacular, as if he had done anything other than encouraging his fellows.
"Ditto" Tesarus nodded. "Hey! The washrack is mine!"
"No, mine!"
"Mine!"