Fire of Youth

One-Shot: Restless

It was always depressingly, frustratingly easy to know where Dreadwing had been recently. He left hot red trails of anger and regret wherever he went like glowing, blistering slime lines, and even if the trail had gone cold, the Seeker Captain's presence left others agitated in his wake wherever he went.

From the very moment he had sensed that trail he had tried to approach him, tried to talk to him, offered to listen. Dreadwing had taken to avoiding him like the Rust Plague in consequence. But he refused to yield and surrender. The Seeker needed help whether he admitted it or not. Until he accepted that help, he would continue to agitate the other sparks, and he would not be able to rest like the others he had aided. There were so many here with regrets, with old angers and grudges. Dreadwing was one of the few who had not let him assist him, leaving him to wander and create his trails of hot regret and anger. Ariel had insisted he wait for him to come to him on his own time but Dreadwing had made no such effort, nor had he ever seemed inclined to. And so yet again he found himself following another hot red trail, feeling the burning tingle it caused whenever he stepped into the energy Dreadwing had left in his wake. In the past, the trails become a confusing maze in the Seeker's efforts to evade him but this one was near ramrod straight in its direction. He took that as a good sign. Perhaps Dreadwing had ceased his tactic of avoidance.

As the trail grew hotter, more recent, he was somewhat encouraged to find the trail led to the one place restless sparks like him tended to gather: the bar.

The old Macadam's building looked the same as it had before Iacon's sacking, a strange conglomeration of Silver Age architecture with modern pieces added on to its structure like unusual tumors. It was an eyesore then and and eyesore still but a familiar one. From the voices and throbbing music inside its doors there was a full house at that moment, or at the very least another fight between old enemies had broken out. He prayed it was the former. Breaking up fights between living foes had been difficult enough in that bar, but breaking up fights between spectral ones was so difficult that Predacons generally needed to be called in from the Hunting Grounds to settle them. They were some of the few capable of preventing the shift between shell projection and core, enabling the two parties to be separated and cooled down. But perhaps he would be lucky this time, he told himself. Perhaps it would only be Wreckers rough-housing with each other. Such a thing had happened a few times before.

So, steeling himself, he pushed open the engraved doors, ducked, and entered into the dim lighting and pulsing neons that lined the walls of Iacon's most beloved eyesore.

As discreetly as he could, he dropped the shell surrounding him and skirted the edge of the main room where a brawl was taking place between a sneering Towers District mech and a little mini-bot, a group encircling the two and egging the two on. But it seemed the mini-con was fighting out of sport and wounded honor rather than a need to settle scores. He did not see Dreadwing right away but he could see the trail he had left clearer and brighter than ever, weaving through the crowd. He reformed his shell once past the hooting gathering of sparks. And then he caught sight of him. He was sitting towards the back of the establishment, helm down, wings down, staring at the table, two empty cubes resting by the arm and clenched first that lay on the table. The Seeker Captain hardly took notice of what went on around him, not the lights, the music, or the fight. He looked and acted numb. The energy near him, while still mostly red, bore flecks of forlorn, hopeless navy. He let the shell form again and joined him opposite where he sat.

Dreadwing took no notice of him for some time. He said nothing to him. It was patience that would win such a personality over, not pushing or shoving.

"You cannot help," he said at last, not bothering to grace him with a connect of sight.

"And what makes you say that?" he wondered.

Helm still down, he replied back, "Unless you can gain access to a separate dimensional plane and slay an undead, or kill Starscream, you are of no use to me. One is not possible, and the other I know you will not do. So why pester me with your presence and your false hopes?"

He was silent. He had suspected that was the cause of Dreadwing's anger but to hear it confirmed gave him a somber kind of hope. He had finally stopped fighting him. Dreadwing knew what the problem was, knew it needed to be solved, but he did not believe it was possible.

"You are correct," he conceded. "I will not kill Starscream, nor will I have Infernus commit the act for you, and accessing another plane of reality is not possible. Not for me. But you forget that there is a Prime capable of creating new dimensions at the swing of one of his blades. What makes you think he cannot access the one your twin is trapped in?"

"The Lord of Time has far more important things to concern himself with," the violet Seeker muttered. "Why would he ever bother with something so trivial as this?"

"Because time is not linear, Dreadwing. Leaving your twin where he is could have unforeseeable consequences in the future, and need I remind you that it is Vector's task to protect the space-time continuum from anomalies, present or potential."

Dreading finally broke his gaze away from the table. A dash of his former military demeanor returned. His wings hiked back up to a resting position. But then his helm shook, "Be that as it may, Optimus, the problem then becomes: how are we to deal with this in our present states? The way we are – we cannot hope to fight and slay my twin. It is preposterous to even suggest. We are nothing more than memories now, and to leave this place would mean danger. You saw what happened to those sparks the guides brought back recently. Trapped in a black haze for centuries, some driven to the brink of madness. That is not a fate I would wish on anyone."

"There is no need to fight him. You will not need to."

"Are you mad?" Dreadwing sputtered. "Do you suggest we hover in front of him and hope to lead him off a cliff?"

"No."

The Seeker scrutinized him intently, searching for an answer.

"You are the splitspark twin of Skyquake. When he perished, you must have felt the link you possessed to him break. But the bond between splitspark twins is far deeper than feeling the other half have its life cut short. Indeed, I am impressed you did not collapse and perish alongside him when that happened. Twins are not meant to be separate. They never have been. You are opposite halves made whole. From what I understand of the reanimation process, the ones subject to it are merely hollow husks, their sparks long gone. But in Skyquake's case, re-animated so soon – I suspect, confused at the black fog around him at time of death, fueled further still by his desire to complete a mission, he saw it as a chance to return without truly understanding what would happen to him. If that theory is correct, he is trapped in that husk, correct?"

"He is," murmured Dreadwing in a hoarse rasp. "He is, I can feel it. Every time I think that husk has expired I hear him scream. But it has been growing weaker."

Concern gripped him. "Weaker?"

Dreadwing's helm shook, "It is...hard to describe. The link is still there, that is how I hear him, but it – it is like the signal is being interfered with. His voice is not as clear as it was."

He rose, "It is as I feared, then. We have little time to act. Come."

His winged hiked up into a sharp valley, "What? What do you mean? What's happening to him?!"

"Come." Very rarely did he ever use such a powerful rumble of his voice.

Frightened, bewildered, Dreadwing followed him back out into the light. Shells were dropped in favor of the alacrity of core flight, his a sphere of red and blue, the Seeker's a bright yellow. But even at their flowing speed it took time to reach the first stop on their journey. On reaching the silver-gold barrier, he formed his shell again. He guided the mech out into the mists and darkness that extended into eternity outside their cradle of light, where the only light came from the stars high, high above, far out of their reach and forever distant, and the shining gold and white beacon behind them that cast pale grey shadows. It was to those stars he fixed his gaze. After a time, one great, bright star fell from the sky to join them, the world around rippling under its contact. Its light reshaped from sphere to that of a mech, but a mech taller and more imposing than he could ever hope to be. Vector was a giant even compared to him. Dreadwing gawked in silence at the figure of the Time Guardian that towered over them both, awed, amazed, and somewhat fearful of being in the presence of one who could bend time itself to his will. The sheer number of olden gears that clanged away on his battle-scarred frame reminded them both just how ancient this being was. A great blade, its hilt made of the same gears as his body, was held in one hand. He gave the Seeker at his side a quiet nod, eliciting a dropped jaw and a few startled steps away. Wings low, Dreadwing bowed. Vector, amused at the display but in no mood for needless formality, used the very tip of his great blade to coax him back into a standing position.

"Your fears were not unfounded then?" the older Prime demanded of him.

"Unfortunately, Dreadwing has confirmed them."

The look of abject shock Vector gave at his words did nothing to alleviate Dreadwing's building fear for his twin. The flickering yellow star at the center of his green and violet shell pulsed and trembled.

"Opportunistic villain!" Vector spat. "I thought trapping the dead was as low as he would ever stoop to and yet he attempts such a flagrant, blasphemous atrocity as this!"

"What? What's being done to him?!"

Snarling, his old wings trembling in rage, the Time Guardian hefted his great blade and sliced it upward. Reality itself rent asunder in its wake.

"Go. Quickly! I will not allow a twinbond to be broken!"

Dreadwing, frozen, had to be pulled through the tear in reality. He sincerely hoped his theory proved true lest Dreadwing's doubtful hate of him increase.

There was nothing at first that told him this was another dimensional plane. The black fog Optimus had mentioned, and that so many of the recent arrivals had been traumatized by, was absent from the rocky canyons. Perhaps the Unmaker's field could not extend beyond the dimension he physically inhabited. He took it as a good omen. But there was something in the air that hinted something was different about this place. It took him a moment to realize what it was: there was no wind in these canyons. The air was dead. On top of that, there was a low vibration he could feel but not detect.

"...I don't like this place..."

Hearing the howling curses and cries of vengeance from his twin only cemented how much he did not like this plane of reality. Further in the canyon he could hear the faint galumphing of a trod and the scccccrrrrr of the other being dragged along the stone, as well, though how he could "hear" as an incorporeal spirit was a question for another time. For now, he would count it as a blessing. The sound, he noted, was growing fainter. Skyquake was headed away from his position, further into the canyons. He could feel his twin's yearning to fly again.

"Go," Optimus rumbled. "Find him. Free him."

"You are not coming?"

The former Prime shook his helm, "It would be best I not. Yet. Should you need me, for any reason, I will come."

He knew why the Prime was holding back. Skyquake was not so quick to forget the past.

So he began his journey into the canyons towards the receding noises. Not hearing his own trods meet the stone or the faint hiss of fans and air cycling was still something he was getting used to, but it wasn't quite so unnerving as it had been to begin with. It made hearing the noise of his twin all the more easier. Skyquake was not moving at a fast pace. The spaces between the thump of one trod and the screeching of its dragged partner told of the shuffling of a body that had long given up, one only barely kept functioning through unnatural means. He began to stroke his anger as the sound of the undead husk reached near peak volume, close enough he caught the wisp of a tired groan escape into the dead air.

He rounded one final, gentle bend in the landscape. And then he saw him.

From behind he could still see much. Skyquake's armor was battered, beaten, broken, its luster long since forgotten and tainted by violet rot, his entire frame practically falling apart wherever it was possible to fall apart. One arm was missing entirely at the shoulder joint, the area scorched from what he assumed must have been a missile of some bygone model, the exposed wires within having simply...disconnected. Fallen off. One of his legs appeared to have been damaged as well, the ankle twisted at a horrid, unnatural angle and scarred by scratches caused by its lame dragging against the stone for so long. Parts of his chassis, once the canopy of a military aircraft that matched his own, had been ripped open at one point. As he continued to shuffle through the canyon, bits of paint flecked off from his husk of a body, falling a short distance behind him, unable to travel on the breeze as they would have outside this place.

Sorrow wailed alongside his unmitigated fury. Damn Starscream to the deepest black of the Pit!

He rushed forward, tried to reach for his twin's one remaining arm with a spectral copy in a desperate lunge. The limb phased through it. His twin did not respond. He was about to curse his incorporeal nature when Skyquake turned. He did not meet his spectral gaze as he had thought he might; his violet optics looked down at the star roiling within his spectral shell. Or that was what it looked like. He wasn't quite sure what it was his twin was seeing. He could see something of him at least. Shell or spark, it did not matter. He knew there was a Presence.

"Skyquake...?"

His twin made no response. He had expected as much. But it had been worth the attempt.

Brother, can you hear me?

Dreadwing? Is that you?

Yes.

You are...?

Yes.

I see. I...did not feel you perish.

Skyquake leaned forward, extending a flaking set of battered digits his spark, letting it hover there for a few moments – the closest either of them could get to an embrace in their current states. He put one spectral hand of his own atop the limb. It did not matter at that moment that Skyquake could not see or feel it. All he cared about was being near to him.

How did you find me? How did you gain access to this place?

He left his questions unanswered in favor of the one he had not asked, I am here to bring you home, brother.

You are wasting your time, then.

What?

I cannot leave. I have tried countless times to flee this useless husk of a body. I cannot. The foul substance used to revive is no longer a crystal that can be wrenched free.

He reeled back. He truly was trapped within his own degrading body. Would it be at all possible to help him then? Unless...

There is someone with me who might be able to help you, should you accept.

Who? Primus himself? his twin scoffed.

No, but someone close to him. A former Matrix-bearer. But you must promise not to attack him. Swear it on the home he will help you into.

...Very well. I swear it on the Allspark to not attack him.

Stay here then. I will bring him to you.

The shell around him dissipated, and he turned and flew back the way he had come. Optimus was close at hand to where he had left him, kneeling down to examine the scratches in the stone left by a dragging heel of metal. He lifted his helm on catching the light of his spark. The former Prime did not appear surprised to see him again, nor did he show surprise on being informed of the problem. He agreed to follow him. Together, they returned to where his twin stood waiting. He prayed Skyquake could forgive, forget, even just for a moment.

On sighting the red and blue sphere at his side, Skyquake emitted a burbling growl and howled over the bond.

YOU! Come to gloat, have you?!

Optimus skirted back from the hand that swiped.

Brother, please! Remember your promise to me! He can help you!

He is the reason I am like this!

"He is still angry at you..." he muttered to him.

His companion frowned, "I feared as much. Can you speak to him on my behalf?"

"I will try."

"Tell him it was not my hand that ended his life, nor my scout, nor our human ally, Fowler, but his own," he said, staring him down like the message was not wholly for his twin.

"That will not win him over," he said wryly.

"Tell him," Optimus insisted.

He repeated the message. Skyquake roared, You expect me to believe that, Autobot?! It was your scout who ripped my chassis open, causing me to crash and expire!

"...He does not believe you."

'And yet his words do not ring hollow to me...'

"You gave us no choice," protested Optimus gently. "I offered you a chance to change paths and you refused, forcing us to fight. Had you accepted my offer, had you averted your path, the end result of that day would not have been your grave. I took not pleasure in your death, Skyquake. All it wrought was sorrow. For Dreadwing, for me, for the life-giver himself."

Something in his twin's demeanor shifted when he repeated those last words. He became...calmer. Fury was replaced by skepticism.

And why would an Autobot help me? I am your enemy. I still am. The only reason I do not attack is because I know I cannot harm you.

"He wants to know why you wish to aid him."

The former Prime dared take a few silent steps of approach, "Because a soldier of your caliber deserved more than a shallow grave marked by loose stone, nor did you deserve what Starscream did to you after we laid you there. If you truly believe this was my fault, Skyquake, then let me rectify it by helping you home. The residual energy from the Matrix within me can cleanse the taint from you. I can free you."

Skyquake did not answer. He growled. He felt his grudge against him lace like a burn mark across the bond. He did not trust him. He did not forgive him. He would never let this go.

Brother, do not repeat your mistake. Optimus gave me the same offer when I returned the Forge of Solus Prime to him in secret, hoping to save me from the same fate that befell you. I did not listen. My pride in the Decepticon cause cost me, as it did you. Megatron himself put a cannon charge through me when I tried to avenge your death. I do not ask that you forgive him, merely that you forget the past for now, trust him, and accept the offer of aid. Please. Accept it. I do not wish wish to lose you. The bond between us is weakening. Unicron is trying to separate us. Permanently. This will be your only chance. Let go.

His twin let his digits hover over his spark once again. His anger faded to a low broil.

...I do this for you. Only you.

He turned to the Prime, bowing his helm forward slightly, "He accepts."

"Then have him approach."

He floated to the side to let Skyquake lumber forward. The former Prime extended one hand, letting it phase directly through the husk's broken chassis, and shuttered his ghostly blue optics to concentrate. Soon, his spark went from a bright speck of red and blue light to a blazing white star. White fire arced up through the limb and into his twin's broken body. He expected his twin to scream in pain but he did not. The dim violet light speckling his body and polluting his optics began to fade. The aggression in his frame went with it until he stood there, an upright corpse – a true corpse now – smiling to itself. Over the bond came a wash of joy and relief. Optimus staggered back, gasping, hand free, the white fire evaporating from it. Skyquake fell in an instant, nothing keeping his body functioning now. He landed on his side. He did not move or rise.

Before his twin, he knelt.

"Let go, little brother," he murmured. "You are free now."

A little light, army green flecked in burnt orange and yellow, floated free of the dead metal. At a touch, a shell formed around it, the shell he remembered, a shell not beaten by warfare and rusted by taint. Skyquake looked around through yellow optics, confused.

"...What now?"

He smiled at him, "We go home. Optimus will show us the way."

Skyquake grumbled, glaring, "I agreed to accept his help. I never agreed to follow him."

An exasperated sigh escaped him, "Follow him as a guide, not follow him as a faction leader. After that, you can grumble and avoid him to your spark's content."

"...Fine."

He did not mention such a tactic would eventually fail. Optimus was unfortunately stubborn when it came to dealing with restless, grudge-bearing souls, and obnoxiously patient in winning those souls over. But if this was a result of his mulish patience, to have his twin back at his side, to be whole again, he would endeavor to let his previous persistence go. As before, the Prime had only wanted to help, to save, to heal, but he had been too blind to see it then.

Motioning them, the Prime led them back to the tear in reality, where a black, star speckled void loomed, and beyond it burned a haven of light.

He unobtrusively followed them for some time within the shining copy of Iacon, to ensure all was well, and then left them to their devices. He had retreated to the towering dome of the Hall of Records where he had found a small table beside a grand window that looked out over the city. The sight of so many dancing lights in the air or flowing along nearer to the ground, of the spectral shells that flew or walked or stayed, was saddening but too caused a fleeting smile. The many who were at peace here far outweighed those who were restless, and he had eternity to assist them. Dreadwing and Skyquake had been a special case, requiring alacrity he had not anticipated beforehand. He was glad to have been able to help them, no matter if Skyquake still harbored a grudge. He trusted in his twin to have him see reason. Eventually.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Where in creation did you disappear to?!"

Ariel joined him at the table, leaning onto one elbow joint and resting her chin in her hands.

"Business," he said.

She rolled her optics, "Riiight. That's what you always say. Did you finally break Dreadwing, then? Finally pester him into submission?"

"Oh, more than that. I not only broke the wild horse, I gave him his freedom back."

His smile broadened when two familiar jets raced by in his view, one deep purple, the other army green, twirling around each other, laughing. His sweet Ariel pieced the puzzle together in a mere shutter of an optic.

She smiled, chuckling, shaking her helm, "You never know when to quit, do you? You seem to care more about them than me!" she added in offense.

"What? No, I –"

Laughing, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his helm, "I'm kidding, Ori. You always make time for me, even in a place where time doesn't matter."

He returned the gesture.

"Happy is he
who has eternity with she," he murmured to her.

She giggled, "Oh, you sweet talker, you," and offered another kiss.

Author's Note: Holy fricking hell I am SO sorry I'm so behind on this one. D: But yeah. Made it a long one to make up for the huuuuuuge wait.