~~MY IMMORTAL~~
By Ayngel
Fic Written for Robotbigbang 2012
Main Characters: Shrapnel, Hook, Kickback, Scavenger, Scrapper. Also: Bombshell, Bonescrusher, Mixmaster, Longhaul, Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, Rumble.
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: The story contains Insecticon/Constructicon sex, sticky, P&P, tactile, oral. Explicit - please don't read if you don't like sticky. Also has a form of BDSM, violent noncon insecticon/conehead sex, prostitution, drug use and energon drinking in a quite vampiric style. Notions of procreation, of the cloning type. Definitely not mechpreg, however. This fic has some dark 'moments,' but is not a 'darkfic' as such. I'm also warning for fluff/angst/romance - and crack.
Warnings, this chapter: This chapter has sticky sex, oral sex, p&p, drug use, energon drinking and medical procedures with mild violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.
Overall summary: Not long after their reactivation on Earth, the Constructicons struggle with various issues, trying to become functional. When Kickback is admitted to the Decepticon medbay after an attack by the coneheads, Hook finds himself deeply attracted to Shrapnel, and swept into a realm of new possibilities. Meanshile Kickback and Scavenger also develop a liking for each other. Will this destroy the Constructicons?
Or could the Insecticon agenda and the new liaisons actually improve matters?
Thanks again to readers and reviewers :-)
In this chapter: Scrapper is distracted from his angsting over Hook by the need to search for Scavenger. Hook reminisces pleasantly about the last few hours with Shrapnel, before getting a few surprises. Kickback enjoys the company of his new friend and Shrapnel prepares to cook up a storm.
PART FIVE
LATE AFTERNOON
From the Journal of Scrapper, Constructicon Leader, Decepticon Command Earth Contingent 1984.
In the end, I recharged, and Mix's mix did the trick. I only onlined once; and though this was with a start, and my mind filled with confused images I did not want to see, of Hook with somebody else, a mech outside the team who wasn't First Aid, I went straight back to recharge.
When I next awoke, I had no doubt that I'd been right about the 'someone else' all along, even if wrong about them being in the team.
It is strange, recharge. Resolve can form that never would online. I was filled with a new determination. A very simple one. I would find this 'lover.' He would know exactly what I thought, just before he got my fist in his face, and then became very sorry indeed that he ever messed with Hook's head, or my team.
Long Haul was online too. He had been for some time. He lay beside me, his hands behind his head. He said he'd been thinking.
"Hook opened the bond, didn't he?" I said.
Long Haul didn't look at me. "Yeah."
"He was with somebody. Who was it?"
"Scrapper…" He sighed. "Can't you give it a rest?"
But I did not wish to hear this. I was certain of my new 'path.' "I've done some thinking, Long Haul," I said. "I need to be more affirmative. Organize the team better. I should not have been so hard on Scavenger, as I now realize it's not his fault. I am going to find this mech…" I clenched my hands into fists. "They will be sorry they came between me and Devastator's head component."
"You and your organization," Long Haul sighed, deeply. He turned over and lay facing me. "I know it helps us with projects and in battle. But right now?" he shook his head. "As for the other mech? That might not be advisable."
His lack of support was appalling! "Why?" I cried.
He hesitated. "Because whoever it is, I couldn't read their signature. But I could feel enough to know that they were – good – for Hook."
I sprang up, hardly able to believe my audios, not wanting to believe them. "How can you say that?" I cried. "Well I am not going to tolerate it, Long Haul! I say that we get the others and sort it once and for all!"
Long Haul had sat up. He regarded me from the edge of the berth. "No," he said quietly. "What came through was short, but intense. It's all right. It's something Hook … needs. You know, Scrapper. About his – background issues. My advice is you ride this one out."
Well it was true, yes, about those. About Hook being a factory made mech, the troubles he had being a 'freak,' an inexplicably intelligent creation who nobody could work out how to bring up. And I knew First Aid had had a lot to say about he 'effects' of this in the past. It maybe is something of which I should have taken more notice, granted. But I couldn't see what it had to do with this now.
I went to protest. But he spoke again. "We have a more pressing problem. More important than Hook's choice of frag partners. Scavenger's missing."
I did remember then that Scavenger went for a flight. But I could not see how that – how anything – could be more important than…
"Scavenger closed the bond," Long Haul said.
I gaped at him. I mean, Scav never does that! He can't bear the thought of being cut off from us. "No …" I said.
"Yep," Long Haul said. "His comm's out, too." He sighed. "I didn't wanna bother you with this before, but he overheard you and Hook, see. He thinks he caused the trouble between you. I thought the fresh air would do him good. But now - I'm worried."
Now, I felt the incomplete mass that was our gestalt, the two sparks missing, the empty ache inside. Hook, I was used to that happening. But Scavenger? It brought a new awful hollowness.
"Do we have any idea where Scavenger was headed?" I said. And now I was angry again; for I had been devoting all my attention, every scrap of it to what I would do about Hook. As usual, the mech had managed to divert every scrap of attention to himself.
And he had lied to me. Well, deceived me, at any rate. I wasn't riding this out. He and I would have it out.
Long Haul looked unhappy. "Rumble said he was looking for the Insecticons."
"What?" I cried. "Why?" And then, a terrible thought occurred. "Those Insecticons that were here the other day…" I felt sick inside. "The one that Hook fixed, and his companions…?"
"Yeah," said Long Haul. "They eat anything y'know. They coulda …" he sighed, shaking his head. "they coulda thought he was a tasty prospect."
Oh no. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility at all. Yes - I was certain they'd sized Scav up and captured him, and taken him to their lair.
The hell with Hook!
"We have to find him, Long Haul," I said. "We have to get out there."
Long Haul looked at the window. I followed his gaze. The water had turned murky, and the sea creatures were gone. Seaweed swayed and drifted in the unsettled depths.
"There's a storm brewing on the mainland," Long Haul said. "If we're gonna do this, we'd better do it now. And we'd better all go so we can form Devastator. I'll have to get Hook."
I am still leader, and a more pragmatic thinker than Long Haul, no matter how good a coordinator he is. "No," I said. "We're lucky as it is that Megatron ain't here. The whole load of us flying around unauthorised? That's bad enough. But to have Devastator rampaging around with the team in its current state would be disastrous. Besides – I don't want Hook there!"
Long Haul nodded. "See what you mean, Scrap. He's probably offline anyway, I'd say."
I had the impression he knew more. I didn't want to know it.
And now, I am desperate to find Scavenger. I cannot even stand to think of the terrors he's being subjected to. Of all who deserve it, he does least; and I realize I should have been so much more attentive, more sympathetic. I only pray that we find him in time and that I can put this right.
Long Haul is fetching Mix and Bonecrusher. They have not closed the bond, and I can tell from their responses they are hung over, and I am not happy about that either – Primus there are gonna be some changes in this team. But remonstrations with them can wait for another time.
In the meantime, I won't say anything about Hook. I can imagine what Bonecrusher will do. It will stay between Long Haul and me. For now.
...
Still at the Decepticon Base, Hook's Quarters ….
Hook was suddenly online. Extremely nice thoughts were in his processor. Pleasant, comforting scents filled his olfactories, blending with the delicious warmth of the body which throbbed against him. The Insecticon's body. Hook wasflung across it, with his head on Shrapnel's shoulder.
An even nicer tingling filled the connection, still in place between them.
Hook let data transmitting this information trickle down the connection, as he curled into Shrapnel. The Insecticon's arm tightened gently around him. He wondered what had brought him online. He could sense 'something.' Was it to do with his team? But no, the bond was still closed. Hook was too snug and happy to give it much attention.
But he was online. His gaze moved across the purple chest to the antler which hung over the edge of the berth. So big from here, it spread out, a mighty structure of dull silver.
"Do those stay active when you're in recharge?" Hook had asked.
"No-no. I disconnect the power to them. That way I can lie on them, them." Shrapnel had said.
Hook had the urge again to touch it. Surely that would be all right? But he could not be sure; and he remembered Shrapnel's gentle reproach. "The damage is not too bad, bad," he had said. "But it could have been worse, much worse, worse. That is why I said no touch, touch."
But he had not seemed displeased, all the same, at Hook's euphoria even through the burned circuits. Just a little sad.
"I feel all right," Hook had said – even though he knew he was really quite badly hurt. And then, because even so he could not bear the thought of Shrapnel never doing that again, he had said.
"Next time. I could – like – give you a sign? Maybe?"
He had heard of such things. Wondered about them. He'd also treated results where signs - and safe words - didn't seem to have worked. He never thought he'd make such a suggestion himself.
Shrapnel had laughed softly, but affectionately. "Once I am charged, I cannot take heed of signs, Hook, Hook," he'd said. "However, there is something else …"
Hook remembered drinking from Shrapnel's arm, the almost immediate sense of well being, his self repairs accelerating to a speed which made it quite easy to see why the Decepticons had valued Insecticons during the war, and made himself almost shout out loud at what an amazing medicine he'd just discovered.
"I think, perhaps, that you and I can explore each other much and work out what are your limits, limits." Shrapnel had said. "A useful exercise for me in self control, control. It will please Bombshell-shell."
That had all sounded fine to Hook. In fact, he'd felt very good, and extremely relaxed, by then. The idea of more of what had happened did not seem a bad idea at all. He'd squirmed against Shrapnel, in a way which made that rather obvious.
"Do you trust me, me?" Shrapnel had asked.
"Yes," Hook had said, surprised at how easily he had come out with that. Whether he should did not seem to matter.
"Good, because I need you to be open, open, and to share, share."
What for? It had been on Hook's lips. He was not even sure why he wanted Shrapnel so badly. But why Shrapnel wanted him, had chosen him, thought him being undamaged so important; surely that he must know. Mustn't he? Could he really trust instincts, not logic?
But Shrapnel had distracted him. "Turn over," he had said, his hands already stroking, caressing.
Hook had turned him on to his front. And then Shrapnel had started to massage, sliding over plates, stroking here, kneading there. As he worked, he'd murmured in a language which was not Cybertronian but sounded ancient and alien, and echo of distant reaches in the Universe, exotic realms that Hook had no knowledge of. Shrapnel had found the release mechanism for the crane shaft and pulled it out, rubbing up and down its length. Hook had dissolved in an ecstasy of sensation.
And as he succumbed to the Insecticon's ministrations, it occurred to Hook how different this was from his team mates, how always with them, he was the one of whom there were expectations. Scrapper's need to possess him, Mixmaster's need for understanding, Bonecrusher's for aggressive direction and Scavenger's for reassurance and affection.
Did they ever think about whether he, Hook, might need some of these things? Yet in this realization had been no anger; Hook was too happy, too indulged to think of them, too swept away by Shrapnel, who seemed to have no expectations, only that he be himself, and share, and trust him.
Shrapnel 's fingers had kept exploring. Frag, he was good. They'd moved gradually down, exploring aft, thighs, the seams on his pelvic armour. By then Hook had been well aroused. Circling movements on the insides of his thighs had made him whimper, his still-open valve ache and throb. Shrapnel's fingers had quickly found it.
By then, Hook had felt Shrapnel's excitement rising again, could tell from the hissing intakes and crackle to the antlers that Shrapnel was charged again. But no blasting release was forthcoming – and nor, Hook had found, did he even want that for now. All the sensation seemed to have diverted to his valve.
Shrapnel had reached under him, gently pulled him on to all fours. There were fingers, then Shrapnel's smooth, long glossa, licking and feeling, slowly and sensuously finding its way around the walls and nodes. Periodically, Shrapnel had let off small ripples of electricity, which scintillated through his circuits, adding to the already exquisite sensations.
Hook sensed these weren't proper overloads. But they seemed to keep Shrapnel happy. Hook had moaned, moving his pelvis in time, almost delirious at the sheer intensity of the pleasure.
It was not long before his valve was wide open and he was trembling, dying to be filled with more than fingers or glossa.
Shrapnel had known this. He'd stopped. "I am going to fuck you like I do Kickback, Kickback," he'd said, kissing Hook's craneshaft. "This will be most pleasant, pleasant. A release of this nature will remove for me the need for large electrical discharge-arge. For now, now."
That evocative human word! A strange term for the Insecticon to use but frag it sounded nice. How long since he'd had it that way? And then Hook had remembered that enormous spike…
He'd trembled, his fans roaring, wanting Shrapnel in him badly he could hardly bear it.
Shrapnel had pulled Hook's thighs apart. "Oh yes please," he'd rasped.
Then thumbs were spreading the rim of Hook's valve. He'd opened his legs more, and raised his aft, felt the massive tip. He'd baulked in just an instant of apprehension, but then it was sliding in, and his valve, so wet and readied by Shrapnel's glossa, took it easily.
Not that it was pain free. Different to the zap, but still so good and fulfilling. Never had he been filled like that. Even Bonecrusher was not of these dimensions.
Shrapnel had slid in and out, murmuring encouragement in that soft hum of his own language. Hook had felt the Insecticon's need rise, excitement building as heat flared off him, his intakes rasping in short gasps. Shrapnel's movements became faster, the spike slid deeper; and then Shrapnel was fucking him, hard and fast, with Hook hanging on to the berth. His fingers dug holes in the mattress as Shrapnel became almost desperate, as though fucking him might be the last thing in the universe that Shrapnel ever did.
Faster and faster Shrapnel went, deeper and deeper. Hook had groaned, shoving back into him, angling himself so as to take as much as he could, feeling Shrapnel's charge go up and up in time with his own; up and up and up…
There was the crackle of static, ozone in the air, and then Hook hadn't known what was coming, hadn't known at all but it hadn't mattered because oh Primus he just wanted this release now…
Then he was going over, and so was Shrapnel. A rush of fluid in his valve, washing out and running down his thighs. Charge had exploded, but just enough to bathe his circuits, to compliment the rest. Waves of satisfaction through his pulsing, clutching valve.
That overload had finally exhausted Hook. Shrapnel had been pleased. "I thought that would be good, good," he'd said as they settled, him curling Hook on to his shoulder. "When I was insectoid, not Insecticon, that is how we would breed, breed. It brings back good memories, memories."
And Hook had wanted then to ask why did you say that, and why are you doing all this with me? But Shrapnel was caressing him again, feeling the output connector on his hip, this time.
"Share with me, me," Shrapnel had whispered.
"Gladly," Hook said, as he could think of nothing he wanted more. Shrapnel had pulled out Hook's connector, and plugged it in to himself.
He'd been already drifting into recharge. As it took him, Hook had let his firewalls collapse utterly, allowing data to flow copiously. It had seemed the right thing to do. He wanted it. There were no more overloads; only the bliss of joining with Shrapnel.
Now, Shrapnel stirred. Hook came back to the present. He murmured, stroking at the black and purple chest. His cable twitched, as data still trickled through the connection, a tangible record of his deeply fulfilled state.
But Shrapnel was awake. Large red optics onlined, staring for a moment before they settled on Hook. He smiled, and Hook smelled sulphur, ozone and fragrant oil. He snuggled into Shrapnel, wanting to stay like this forever.
It was not to be. But Shrapnel kissed him softly, sensuously, then removed the connection.
"I have to go, go" he said. "There is business to which I must attend. Insecticon business-ness." Detaching gently, he sat up. The blue iridescent glow came into his antlers, the tiny points of light flickering.
The disappointment Hook felt must have showed. 'Don't go, stay,' he wanted to say. Stay, so I don't have to think about the team, or the war, or the universe; or my situation.
But this didn't go unnoticed, or unattended to. Shrapnel put an arm around him. "I will be back, back," he said. "Believe me Hook, I enjoyed that very much, much. You are special, special."
This time, Hook was asking the question before he had even thought about it. "Why me?" he said.
Shrapnel smiled at him. "Because I want your programming for my clones, clones. Did I not say you would not be extinct-inct?"
He may have been answering a question about the weather, or the price of fuel, or any one of a number of utterly mundane things. Hook felt his jaw drop. Never had he been bombarded with so much which left him so completely devoid of knowing, at that moment, how to react at all.
"Besides, I find myself with a fondness beyond what I expected to have, have" Shrapnel said more softly. "I think perhaps there is more than this, this."
At that point, over the medcom came Soundwave's monotone. "Medic – required. Proceed to medbay. Conehead Thrust. Requires attention."
Hook hardly heard it. "You want – to replicate me?"
But Shrapnel had stiffened. He looked worried; distraught, even. "I thought Soundwave was to deal with that himself-self," he muttered. Then he looked at Hook, and a sad look came over him. "When you see Thrust, then do not take anything as an indication of what I might to you, you," he said. "I could. But I would never, never. Not if I can ever help it, it…"
If Hook had not known more about Insecticons, he would have said that Shrapnel was emotional…
Shrapnel planted a lingering kiss on Hook's helm. "Soon, soon…" he said.
But then, Shrapnel was leaving, his alien alloys rustling as he swept through the door. Hook sat there stunned - and utterly confused.
…..
Forest, Olympic National Park, Washington USA
Scavenger was spreadeagled over him. Kickback's wings, squashed as he held the Constructicon in his arms, were clogged with mud. The whole of him was covered in mud. Normally, he hated that. Right now, he didn't care.
"Am I good or what?" he murmured, looking sideways at Scavenger's face on his shoulder. Even offline, it wore a satisfied little smile; a happy reflection of the revelries of the last few hours.
Kickback had liked it too. More than liked it. Such a change from being leapt on in alt mode, fragged like the miniature Earth versions of him did it. Assaulted by that massive thing of Shrapnel's – not that Kickback didn't like that; but this? Well – it just made a change, that was all.
He'd just have to get Scavenger to touch his wings and antennae more. Perhaps be a bit rougher. Then it would be perfect.
Kickback leaned up and pecked at Scavenger's cheek. Then, happily, he cuddled him, enjoying the sighs of both their intakes as they blended with the noises of the forest.
After a while, however, Kickback really did feel a need to wash off the mud. Raising his head, he peered down at the green back and purple thighs, the shovel cast to one side. From under Scavenger's hip protruded his spike, still extended, still tingling from the releases.
A mixture of mud and Insectifluid was drying on many parts of Scavenger; just as it was on them both. Kickback also knew it formed part of the puddles beneath them. Yes, they should get up.
Besides – Kickback's antennae twitched - he could tell from the heavy feel to the air that the weather was changing. Above the canopy, the sky peeping through was a solid grey.
If Shrapnel had not already left for the mainland, he would now. One look at that sky, and he wouldn't be able to help himself.
Kickback loved Shrapnel's storm driven excitement, loved to watch the Coleopteran's ecstatic releases. There was nothing better than seeing lighting flash in intricate patterns, in soaking up the intensity as Shrapnel absorbed the electric charges and blasted them back out again. But Kickback also knew from long experience - that it wasn't the best thing to be out in for long. Not for the uninitiated, anyway.
"Hey - wake up !" He shook the top of Scavenger's tail, which happened to be next to his hand.
Scavenger stirred, snuggling into him. "What…?" he murmured.
"We gotta go." Kickback said. "But first we gotta get clean."
…
A little later, Kickback stood on a fallen tree above the lagoon. Next to him, only just balancing, was a giggling Scavenger, exuberant again having woken up and been topped up with fuel. Kickback wondered now if that – or this – had been wise. But he did want his new friend to have fun.
They'd go to the lair, and Shrapnel would be there soon, and Kickback would be there with his two favourite mechs.
Grabbing the creeper, he planted it in the Constructicon's hands. "Why?" giggled Scavenger.
"Because it's heaps better than just getting in," Kickback said. "Now - you gotta swing out real hard, then you let go. It can be real stylish-like. Or you can just make a big splash."
Wait till you see my style! He thought.
Scavenger was laughing uncontrollably. "'s different for you. You got wings. You can fly out. I can't. What if I sink to the bottom and never come up? Oh hahahaha… oops!" Kickback steadied him as he lost his balance and teetered, tail flapping, only just managing not to fall.
"If you sink I'll go down and get ya won't I?" Kickback said. "Now you gotta take this seriously. I'll demonstrate."
Seizing the creeper, Kickback swung deftly out over the pool. "Yeeeeehhh!" See – no wings?" he yelled, he swung high into the air and then let go.
He performed a perfect pike dive, straightening and enjoying the coolness of the water as he plunged into its depths.
…
"That was awesome!" Enthralled, Scavenger took the creeper. How much fun he was having! He still couldn't see the point of this. But hey – who cared? The last few hours were easily the happiest he'd had on Earth.
Grasping the creeper, he hesitated, grinning at Kickback's head bobbing in the water. Then he took a deep intake, and swung out.
Perhaps his control was not as good as he'd thought? Only half way to the point Kickback had reached, he lost his grip and hurtled down. So much for Kickback style finesse! There was a loud splash as the water hit his panels.
And then, he was indeed sinking into the depths; though it was not unpleasant, surrounded as he was by calm murky green, weed and plankton which floated past.
An arm gripped his waist, warm metal against him. Then Scavenger was rushing up, up. He burst out on to the surface of the lagoon, and there was Kickback's laughter, the aliveness of the forest, the cool moist air filling his intakes.
"Hives! I thought you were joking when you said that. Do I get a prize for saving you twice today?"
Kickback was chortling as he hauled him to the shallows. He found he could stand. Kickback was still next to him. His wings stretched above the water, and Kickback strummed them, a shower of droplets cascading over them both.
An almost overwhelming rush of feeling enveloped Scavenger. Kickback cared! And it didn't matter how much of a jerk he, Scavenger, was, Kickback still wanted to save him. He liked him; wanted to be his friend. And to frag him. Only this time, Scavenger thought he might just do that to Kickback.
And from the way Kickback had responded to certain things before, he thought he might know just how to do that. He would repay him – and show how sensitive he was to Insecticon needs.
He stroked Kickback's face. Then, cautiously, he ran a hand up one of the antennae.
Kickback shuddered hard. Static crackled through Scavenger's hand. For a moment the Insecticon optics were wild, his face like that of an untamed creature. Then, he laughed.
"Gotta be a bit careful with that," he rasped. "But awww - nice!"
It was. Scavenger did it again, liking Kickback's squeal, the currents which can up his arm feeding straight into his rapidly building charge. Then he grabbed Kickback by the wings, and kissed him, hard.
The kiss went on, fingers tightening on metal as heat rose and intakes hissed. Scavenger felt Kickback's wings vibrate, his spike hard against him. He unleashed his own, pushing it forward to drive into the Insecticon's hip. Then, still kissing, he manoeuvred Kickback to the bank, his tail thrashing as he pinned the Insecticon down.
Kickback, evidently, was enthralled. "Hey – I ain't done it in here before!" he chirped, as he was flattened against the Earthy surface. "And this way's cool!"
"Well I'm gonna do you in here now," Scavenger said, surprised and delighted at the confidence in his own voice. His fingers were already feeling for the Insecticon's valve.
…..
At the Decepticon Base...
As Shrapnel strode to the exit tower, the Insecticon became more and more agitated.
If Bombshell had screwed this up…
Shrapnel may not understand this uncanny fondness he had for his new lover, but it was real and urgent. Shrapnel missed Hook already. Analysis of the data over the last few hours whilst the Decepticon slept in his arms had confirmed all his theories. Now he was darned if Soundwave – or anyone – was going to disturb what he planned to put in train.
The Conehead. What would Hook think when he saw Thrust? He would know, wouldn't he, what had caused that? What if he didn't believe that he, Shrapnel, would not do it to him? Hook was sensitive, and prone to doubt. Gaining his trust in so short a time was not only testament to Shrapnel's talents, but a miracle of sorts, confirming only the 'rightness' of his choice.
And then there was the other possibility. That Thrust, recovered just enough to be dangerous, might 'take it out' on Hook. And not that Shrapnel wouldn't go back and give Thrust twice as much grief as he'd had already if he did, but what if he damaged him in the interim?
And he couldn't do anything about it. Because he had to see Bombshell, had to complete their agenda. Well he might just get the other Coleopteran to adjust that.
Protective fury surged through Shrapnel, mingling with excess electric charge, carefully stored during the latter stages of their lovemaking but now breaking into the channel relays, threatening to explode. He thundered along, venting heavily. If ever he had needed a storm, it was now.
Then there was Bombshell, standing coolly next to the tower exit.
"Bombshell!" Shrapnel gasped. "I need I need, need need…"
"Shrapnel!" Bombshell frowned. Then there was a restraining hand on his arm, the firm, familiar grip of the older Coleopteran, his unrelenting gaze. "Calm down. Whatever is the matter with you?"
"I'll kill him!" Shrapnel raged. His antlers crackled, loudly. "If anything happens to Hook. I'll kill Soundwave-ave. I'll kill Thrust Thrust. They'll be history-istory. I'll - I'll - I'll …"
"Enough!" Bombshell was stern, his grip tightening. "If this is to be a side effect, then we will have to think carefully about continuing down this path at all!"
It had a sobering effect, aeons of Bombshell, the former Pleiadian politician turned psychiatrist, an elder and very much Shrapnel's superior on his homeworld, asserting his authority as was the Insecticon way. Bombshell was perfectly capable of abandoning Hook as a prospect, and Shrapnel knew it.
He regarded Bombshell, giving in but still smarting. "Why didn't Soundwave fix him, him?"
"The Coneheads objected to Soundwave treating Thrust, so he passed Thrust on to Hook," Bombshell said. "It fitted well with our plans. It made Soundwave look accommodating. All the easier for him to have them believe he meant it when he organized the posse to go after us. Now – we need to be out there and ready when Dirge's arrogance makes them attempt to fly into the storm you are going to create. Which you are going to create, are you not?"
Shrapnel felt self control returning, brought on by the calm aura of the other Coleopteran. While he, Shrapnel, managed this lot of the time, he did so nowhere near as completely as Bombshell. "He will not hurt Hook, Hook?" he asked.
The lift arrived. "My dear Coleopteran," Bombshell said as they got into it. "He is in no state to hurt Hook. You did a fair old number there, Shrapnel. It would do to remember that the traditional Coleopteran Way is one of even retribution, not overkill. Still, the mech is most unlikeable, and was a poor choice. I am not sorry, and most certainly neither is Soundwave."
Shrapnel felt better. But now there were different sensations. The memories of the Constructicon, fierce desire mingling with the anticipated storm. Charge swelled his circuits and excitement surged, augmented by the prospects of further payback to the other offenders in the attack on Kickback.
"How was Soundwave-wave?" he asked.
"Excellent," Bombshell said. "Cooperative, and a very useful assistant in our cause. He is in complete approval of my studying Dirge - who incidentally I don't want roughed up too much, Shrapnel. You can concentrate on the other one."
Had Shrapnel been listening, he may have protested. But he was too busy anticipating the exit, the glorious outdoors, the relief from the confines of the base and his rapidly escalating charge.
The lift stopped and they stepped out. Instantly, a strong wind whipped Shrapnel's frame. Clouds scudded across a darkening grey sky. Below, the calm blue sea of earlier was a churning grey mass, slapping the sides of the tower, sending spray hurtling into the stinging air.
Shrapnel became a mass of quivering steel and pent up energy. Those clouds! They were rich with ionic particles, just waiting for his input. The charge escalated to a point of pain, his channel circuits unable to resist the pressure. He arched back, letting them open, allowing charge to sear out and fire into the clouds, exploding in a blast of lightning.
Bombshell tut-tutted as the clouds lit up, and thunder rumbled out to sea. "You are in a state," he said. "But tell, me, aside from all this angst, I take it you're satisfied that you made the right decision?"
The clouds were too thin to elicit any proper buildup. But the release had relieved the pressure. Just a little. "More than satisfied-fied!" Shrapnel gasped. But his focus was now elsewhere. Over towards the mainland, the sky grew gradually darker, blackening in the distance. That was where he needed to be.
Bombshell followed his gaze. "You are fortunate," he said. "Conditions north east are perfect. I suggest we get you there and you get busy. The message we send when those idiots fly into the storm will be all the more spectacular, the sooner we get started."
"Indeed-deed," Shrapnel needed no further urging. He was already transforming.
"Don't forget Kickback, either," Bombshell cautioned as he rose into the air. "Further recalcitrance would not be helpful."
Shrapnel whipped round in a circle, faster than any jet, the wind rushing through his antlers like sweet salvation. He was still charged. But now he would contain it for the mainland. "I will make it up to Kickback , Kickback!"
"Probably as well that you don't have a go at him in this state," Bombshell muttered as they sped away. "Much as I enjoy your indulgences, I don't think even I could withstand them at the present time."
…
Still stunned, Hook made his way to medbay.
Why was he going there? Oh yes. Thrust. That's right. Stupid Coneheads were always getting themselves smashed up. As if he needed this now. What had Shrapnel said?
But Hook could not even think of that. He could not think of anything but Shrapnel, and the other thing Shrapnel had said. And his processor whirred with confusion. On the one hand, his body still throbbed with interface and aftermath, his spark hot in his chest. He'd been chosen for clone replication; and that was – kinda wonderful.
But hadn't Shrapnel rather duped him? Cos was that really immortality?
He thought of replication, Cybertronian style? Unilateral replication produced copies; bilateral, a combined programming from two mechs. Bilateral was superior, used in higher castes. What was the difference?
Our clones would have all my thoughts all my memories. And his. Did that make a difference? And there would be hundreds of versions. Thousands, tens of thousands, even … Whereas replication produced a single protoform, two at the most? Does that mean I go on? Or will everything I have been be no more?
Hook could not answer that. But he found himself feeling not adverse to Shrapnel. Thousands of versions of himself? It wasn't a bad thought at all! In fact, Hook felt rather chuffed. He warmed to the Insecticon. He remembered that strange connection between them, even before the interface, where Shrapnel had almost seemed to read his mind. He knew what I wanted.
In a sense, he had been given it; had chosen Hook for that purpose. Of all the mechs on this planet, he had been chosen! No, only fondness was in Hook's spark as he neared the medbay.
He paused before the door. He smiled. No, this was more than 'not bad.' It was – amazing, Shrapnel was amazing. And from the way he'd been before he left, there was plenty more to come.
But something else entwined with this; an ache, not for Shrapnel, but for the team. For Hook had been given something, a precious thing. He realized he felt better, more whole, and able to cope with their needs. A sudden longing to explain this seized him.
But Scrapper would replace him. Although - no - Hook was certain he could stop that. Things were different, now. But he could not quite yet bring himself to open the bond.
Activating his comm, Hook called Long Haul. Scrapper had been with Long Haul. Talking to Long Haul was easier than it was to Scrapper. He would put Long Haul on notice, and sort this out later.
But Long Haul didn't answer. There was a message: All gone to the mainland to get Scavenger. Talk later. Take care. Long.
Hook turned the comm about Scavenger? What had the idiot gotten himself into this time? Hook sighed. Perhaps he would leave things for a little while longer before he saw them.
Striding through the medbay door, Hook was unprepared for the sight which greeted him, the charred red body and the blackened optics which peered from under the buckled cone. He stopped short, his optics widening in surprise.
"Primus," he said.
Thrusts' optics were murderous. "Shuddup and get me fixed!" he snarled.
...
Forest, Olympic National Park , Washington USA
"This is awesome," Scavenger panted, thrusting into Kickback as he pinned him. And it was. The long thin Cybertronian spike penetrating far up, the hot chest, the slender hips banging against him as water slapped and sloshed.
Then there were those fingers, gripping his wings, that aft, the treaded legs, the feel of that shovel shaft - all had combined to bring Kickback rapidly to the brink of overload; on which he now teetered, almost reluctant to go over and spoil the sensations.
But he did not want to wait. Opening his legs, he grabbed Scavenger by the aft and pulled him in hard, bucking his hips with Scavenger's thrusts. "Oh yeah!" he yelled, as small waves crashed into the bank. "Harder, yeah! That's it – ooooh yeah I really am gonna… aaaawwwwww Scavenger, grab my antenna, for frag's sake grab it…"
It had been good, building up the charge. As he went over, electricity shot out of Kickback, sending the water into a frenzy of boiling and crackling. Scavenger erupted in a mass of sparks; his tail rising out of the water. Little currents danced down it. For a moment, his face was a picture – a fascinating combination of overload and utter surprise. But then, he laughed out loud and fell against Kickback.
And then Scavenger was clutching him, still laughing as spasms ricocheted through both of them. Yep - there was no doubt he'd liked that. And Kickback had known it. He could do that – whatever Shrapnel said. They stayed together, still joined panting as steam rose. The waters gradually stilled.
"Oh yeah!" Kickback panted. "You're something. And that was something, wasn't it? Y'see, I ain't as good at that as Shrap, but I ain't bad."
Scavenger fell weakly around Kickback's neck and they held each other. "I think you're just wonderful," he said. They held each other, as wind rushed gently through the trees, sending a light rain of pine needles and leaves raining down and little ripples skittering.
It was then that drops of rain began to plop around them, and in the distance, thunder rumbled.
Kickback perked up, pushing Scavenger away. His antennae gave a short burst of wild twitching. "There's a storm coming," he said. "Shrapnel will be back by now. And that means things are about to get hot. C'mon!"
…..
Scavenger could feel Kickback's excitement, tangible and thrilling. His energy field crackled as Kickback grabbed his hands and pulled him up the bank. Another rumble of thunder and rain fell more heavily.
"C'mon!" Kickback said. "Let's fly!"
The Insecticon transformed and buzzed away through the trees. Scavenger did not follow straight away. He watched, thinking how amazing Kickback looked zipping between the trees, how incredible that his wings strummed so fast they were a blur to the optic. It was just another awesome aspect to this awesome Insecticon, who'd survived all this time without any other Orthopterans.
But as for him doing that? Well sure his flying had improved exponentially earlier. But here, now? In this weather?
Kickback did a circuit around and returned. "What's the hold up?" he yelled. As he hovered, the light flickered, the first signs of distant lightning.
The forest was darkening rapidly, rain pattering into the lagoon in a thousand circles. The wind got up, a sudden whoosh through the trees, sweeping the rain sideways. Thunder boomed again, this time closer.
"I don't think…" Scavenger began.
"You can do it! Fly with me!" Kickback yelled. Transforming back to root mode, he held out a hand.
And then, the forest was lit up as the trees bent in the wind and the rain came hard, flurrying in patterns. Well hell – he'd flown quite a long way before he crashed, hadn't he? He'd done lots of things right today. Like screw Kickback…
"All right!" Scavenger grasped the hand.
They rose into the air; the wind buffeted Scavenger's frame as they zigzagged through the trees. And then Kickback let go, and there was Scavenger flying all by himself, adjusting his Thrusters and ducking and weaving, not even coming close to crashing, even though the wind tore at him.
"Told ya!" Kickback's voice came over the din.
Then lightning began to come in a series of flashes, whilst the thunder turned to an almost continuous booming and the rain came down in torrents. "Now we land!" Kickback yelled. "Dunno what got into Shrap. But I reckon we oughtta go on foot. Our lair ain't far now!"
Scavenger didn't really know what he meant. He cared not, however. Stumbling happily, he followed Kickback through the storm.
...
Decepticon Base
The more Hook saw, the more he reeled with horrible fascination. There was no doubt now as to the meaning of Shrapnel's words. For Thrust was charred inside, his core burned badly, his circuits a series of fritzed wires and congealed conduits. His spark functioned, pulsing too hard in the failure of self repair.
Is this what I can expect. If I don't do what he wants. Or even of I do?
But no. Hook remembered the distraught look in Shrapnel's optics. Never you, you… And could he not have done this at any time during their coupling, but had held back every time, made every effort?
Still, Hook saw now what Shrapnel meant, the reason for his caution. It was a sobering demonstration.
But it was payback. The Coneheads had attacked Kickback. And Thrust was obnoxious. He moaned and glitched and complained, picking up on every little deficiency he perceived in his treatment. As he worked on, Hook became less horrified, as a satisfied feeling seeped in. Thrust had not warranted the same attention that he, Hook, had been lavished with.
Clearly, Thrust was the opposite of 'special.'
Although it was different. Hook confessed to curiosity. Why had Shrapnel interfaced with this aft? Prostitution, that's right. He needed the credits? But how had it gone from Thrust paying for Shrapnel's services, to this?
Thrust was not divulging details. "How long is this gonna take?" he snarled.
"A long time," Hook said. He took pleasure in saying it. "I can fix up the basics now. Then it might be preferable to render you unconscious and put you on life support."
Thrust made an irritated sounding noise. Then, he started rambling. "Slaggin' bugs. Who do they think they are… set themselves up … little one flashing his wings… course we're gonna have some fun."
Hook's hands froze as he seethed inside, amazed at how much the term' bug' got to him, at how much this affected him. "I'm going to have to get that cone off your head," He was pleased at how painful and unpleasant that was likely to be.
The moron wouldn't shut up. "Mind you, I've had some fun with the other one too," he went on. "Wasn't always like it was today, see? You shoulda seen him squeal other times."
Hook could barely contain his fury. Now, he was immensely pleased at how Thrust had been 'dealt with.' But it did not stop the pain that went through his spark, the outrage.
It almost overrode the medical program. Hook paused again. For a moment, he considered leaving Thrust a charred mess, doomed to a slow and painful demise. The program only just won out.
"Just hold steady for me," he said through gritted denta, picking up the saw from the table. Activating the device, he brandished it, pleased at the way Thrust's optics bulged in alarm.
The saw wailed, and Thrust's yells joined its mournful whine as Hook split open the cone. Yanking it off, he shoved it on the table next to Thrust, in full view. But Thrust wasn't looking. Intakes rasping, his optics filled with a hideous malevolence, he was off again.
"Y'know who I blame? Them Seekers. How was I s'posed to know that one'd gotten himself some special power?"
His face took on an ugly look of pure hatred. "Well they ain't so special. That winged one didn't look no different from them others back then. We'll get him yet. We'll do to him what we did to 'em before the war, see? Got a few credits for that. Magnus wasn't fussy who he paid those days."
Hook was shaking, the pain in his spark almost unbearable. He remembered how the Insecticon had been, but the fierce passion with which Shrapnel had fought to contain himself. Then he was angry, more angry than he had been since awakening on Earth, than he remembered being even in the long aeons before their stasis.
In one movement, he had picked up the saw again and swept it against Thrust's throat. It whined, threateningly.
"If you ever say anything like that again," he said, hearing in his voice a chilling smoothness, the sort of deadlines he'd heard only from mechs like Vortex in interrogations. "I will kill you. Do you understand?"
But Hook wasn't Vortex. Much as he might have liked to be at that moment. Thrust looked up at him, a horrible leer on his faceplates.
"You like 'em, don't ya?" He cackled. "Well whaddya know? Reckon we got ourselves a bug lover."
Hook could hear no more. Throwing the saw down, he grabbed Thrust's wrist. Then he yanked out the connector, and jacked forcefully in. It took astroseconds to override that part of the medical code to do with 'maintaining functionality' and consent, to batter down Thrust's firewalls and knock him unconscious.
No doubt, First Aid would have baulked at such travesty – no matter who the patient. That was why Hook was a Decepticon, and First Aid hadn't become one. It had its uses.
…..
Forest, OlympicNational Park, Washington USA
The forest shuddered, branches cracking and falling as the rain lashed down, tinging off the robots, almost obscuring the way ahead. Lightning blasted out, illuminating the forest. Almost immediately, thunder boomed.
Scavenger hung on to Kickback's hand as they strained against the wind, not minding being pulled along. Their feet made a slap-slap sound as they ran, wind howling through the trees.
"Lair's just through there!" Kickback yelled. But Scavenger now pulled Kickback to a near standstill, as the enchantment of the storm took effect.
He'd never been much one for them before. But the sheer power of it! The trees roared above, rain flurried down in curtains. They sheeted into the ground, where now ran rivers, water carving trenches in the soft forest floor.
Enthralled, tail swinging wildly, Scavenger bent closer to examine one. Mini geological events unfolded before his optics.
Another rush of euphoria took him. I'm a geologist. I'm a great geologist. And I can fly and run and make Insecticons yell out when they overload…
"Now what?" Kickback yelled above the din. His wings fluttered and vibrated, antennae going wild.
"Water erosion," Scavenger, shouted back. "It normally takes millions of years!"
The wind and rain strengthened. There was a loud crack, as a tree fell nearby, crashing through the forest as lightning rent the sky again.
"Come ON!" Kickback yelled. Grabbing Scavenger's hand, he pulled him forward.
But Scavenger hesitated. For he had sensed something else, a distant tug of feelings; the concern of other mechs. His team! He had almost forgotten them. Scrapper was there, and Long Haul; he strained to feel more, sensing Bonecrusher and Mixmaster.
They were out in this storm! And they were all looking for him. So intense had the last few hours been, he had not even heard them.
"Wait!" he wailed.
"Come ON! We're HERE!" Scavenger could see through the rain ahead a camp and chairs. He could dimly see, looming behind it, a cliff and three large holes. As lightning flashed again, Kickback hauled him towards one. And then they were inside, and he was scrambling on his hands and knees down a tunnel, his shovel catching on the rocky sides.
He emerged into a cave, large and airy. He forgot his team mates, standing up slowly as he stared around.
In the centre was a berth of sorts. It looked to be of organic matter – branches, leaves and moss. Various utensils lay beside it, used bowls and plates and cubes. Scattered nearby was a pile of wood chunks. Very definite teeth marks showed.
Around every wall were rows of shelves. Paraphernalia decorated the alcoves, a staggering variety. Near the entrance sat a collection of large, grinning skulls. But the most striking of all - the thing which most caught Scavenger's attention - was a table on which sat the most stunning crystals Scavenger had ever seen.
"You like it?"
Scavenger stared, mesmerised. But then, the wind howled outside and the bond's presence reasserted itself, a terrible sickening fear taking root.
"My comm!" he said, trying it. But however well the Insectifuel might have repaired other bits of him, that, evidently, was still fragged.
Scavenger panicked. "Scrapper!" he yelled. "Long Haul. Hook! I'm here!" he turned to Kickback in desperation. "My team! I gotta get to my team!"
Then, somehow, he was on the makeshift berth, and Kickback's arms were round him, holding him, firm and reassuring.
"Hey - it'll be all right," said the Insecticon. "We can contact 'em. I got a device, see?"
….
Decepticon Base
Hook worked on with Thrust, replacing the elements in his core, connecting up to more complex relays. He longed to be away form here, to go find Shrapnel again, to Hold the Insecticon and tell him he appreciated what he had done, was doing, and that he would help him; so much did he admire Shrapnel's brave stance in the universe against such hideous adversity.
Even more, he wanted to see his team. Tell them they were good mechs, that he appreciated them, had enjoyed their history together, and wanted it to go on. But despite his flaunting of the code, it would not allow him to abandon Thrust altogether – a fact which irked Hook and was making him more irritable by the moment; so much did he want to be done with this and away from medbay.
He was not expecting the sudden chill in the air, the uncomfortable prickle to his sensor net. It took only microseconds to register that this was unconnected with his previous thought processes, and due to a new, external circumstance. He registered Dirge even before he'd figured it out.
Dirge was always inexplicably and ciccuit chillingly unnerving. The mech seemed to embody dark unknowns, the very horrors that Hook dreaded. And unlike the other Coneheads, who simply could not register emotion or discomfort in another, Dirge could, and enjoyed it. This was perhaps the most chilling aspect of Dirge - and the reason most Decepticons went out of their way to avoid him.
Today, in the wake of Thrust's comments, of Kickback's attack, however, Hook felt nothing but a guttural and unrestrained hatred.
"What do you want?" he snarled.
"Just came to check on m'team mate," Dirge droned.
"He's very badly damaged," Hook took great pleasure in saying. "I'll do what I can." Not that I want to, he wanted to add.
Dirge moved closer. He smelled of rust and decaying metal. "Reckon he got himself in a spot," he said, looking down on Thrust. "Told him 'bout th'rumours, how he oughtn't t'mess with the lightning bug. Dumb fragger. Couldn't help h'self."
Hook's pique lifted a fraction. "Well perhaps he'll be a bit more cautious in the future."
Dirge nodded. Then he laughed, a horrible sound. "Might not be necessary, as it happens," he drawled. "When he comes around, tell him we're goin' after the Insecticons. This time we got the Seekers in on it. We're gonna blast that whole forest wi'cluster bombs. Won't be nothin' left of none of it …" he chuckled, "or much else in those parts."
Hook's hands froze as his spark turned to ice. It wasn't just the implications for the Insecticons but – my team. My team are there.
"You do realize unauthorised attacks are prohibited!" His voice wavered, as he fought to stay calm. "The Autobots are bound to launch an offensive."
"Pretty hard when their bits n'pieces are scattered all around too."
Dirge smirked. "Reckon Megatron's gonna be mighty pleased when he sees th'results. Gonna open up a whole new era for us Coneheads." He looked up at Hook, his greyish lips twisted into a smile. "Been a bit dull around here lately, don't you think, doc?"
Hook didn't answer. He was thinking, hard; thinking what he could do to save the only mechs in the Universe who – with the exception of First Aid, who would always have a place somewhere – he actually cared about.
Dirge moved closer. The smell made Hook want to gag. "Kinda weird, doc," Dirge said. "Somehow I'd a thought you'da been more pleased about getting' some revenge for a fellow Decepticon."
Hook's head swum, but he could do nothing about the expression on his face, or his stifled vocaliser.
Dirge nodded. "So tell him. Right? An' say the antlered bug's on me."
He was gone, the door hissing shut, footsteps dying away as he clanked off up the corridor.
Protective imperative burst through the medical programming, obliterating its hold. Nothing mattered to Hook any more but the mechs who were in danger.
Nevertheless, Hook still closed the wound over Thrust's core, soldering it roughly before clicking in the connections for life support. With a rapid check to his bandaged head and noting that no energon leaked, he set the sequences to run.
Then he quickly tidied up, and performed a quick ablution. With no room for further barriers or recriminations, he was already opening the bond as he headed for the exit tower.
Thrust would not die. His recovery would just take longer. Hook would deal with the consequences later.
...
Forest, Olympic National Park, Washington USA
Kickback had known the device would come in handy.
And it had! Scavenger had calmed right down. He set it down in the centre of the room, near the berth. He just hoped that today it worked. It was a cool device – but it could be temperamental. Especially in here – even though it was only thing between here and the surface. And especially in this weather.
Although the storm was passing on. Howling wind could no longer be heard. Instead, there was just a steady drip drip in various sections of the cave which weren't quite as watertight as Kickback would have liked.
Scavenger was staring at his creation. Kickback supposed the thing would be strange looking to a non Insecticon. A pile of skulls were bound together with sinews. They were mounted on a block to which were attached dials of varying sizes. Wires protruded in various place.
Of course, the skulls weren't strictly necessary. He could have just used the old transistor box he'd found. But the skulls were much cooler.
From the top, a familiar looking antenna protruded.
"What the frag is that?" Scavenger cried.
"Good old fashioned radio!" Kickback said, proud of his creation. "Antler's a spare one of Shrapnel's. Works just as well for this as a lightning conductor. But don't tell him."
"You can hear all stuff going on all over the planet," he went on, twiddling at the dials. Squeaks and static issued forth. "You should be able to get your team mates. I can get Shrapnel and Bombshell. Though they don't usually like to be disturbed."
They didn't. Which was why he wasn't allowed an internal comm device. Today, however, they could darned well make an exception.
"Hurry!" There was panic in Scavenger's optics again. It hurt, somehow. Kickback had gotten close to his new lover in the last few hours. He needed to look after him. He would put an end to this suffering just as soon as he could.
Kickback twisted dials. More squealing sounds, snatches of music and voices.
"Wait! That sounded like Scrapper!"
Kickback tuned the dial back to where it was. Sure enough, a voice came through loud and clear. "Storm seems to be moving offshore, it said. An unusual path, but it should make our search easier. I suggest we start with the coastline…"
"Noooo!" Scavenger pushed past him. "I need to talk into it!" he said. His hands flapped, his tail flailing behind him.
"Oh yeah!" Kickback had almost forgotten that bit. Plugging a rusty looking microphone into the device, he handed it to Scavenger.
"It's me, Scavenger, and I'm here!" Scavenger yelled into it.
There was silence. Then the same voice. "Scavenger. I am relieved you are all right, but far from happy with this conduct! Your coordinates please?"
Blimey! He sounded like Bombshell! Kickback warmed to Scavenger even more.
Scavenger only just had time to transmit the coordinates, before the device cut out. Kickback shrugged. "Oh well," he said. "I tried!"
Hope you're still enjoying! One chapter to go :-)