Author's Notes: Wow, I'm updating a second fic in one day! I can't remember the last time I was able to do this! Since the last thing I updated was sad (as was the Author's Note) I decided for something a bit lighter and wrote this chapter of Poor Relations. I want to thank Cashagon and TFGirl for their suggestions for this fic. They've really helped me to know where I want to go with this. I'm implementing one of Cashagon's ideas in this chapter, but more of TFGirl's later on as the fic progresses. Thank you to everyone who is reading this. Please remember to favorite, follow, and review :)
Chapter 3
What Happened?
Knockout did his best to concentrate on his Vehicon patient and not on the set of dim yellow optics watching him from across the room. Dead End was standing in his usual spot by the counters and staring at Knockout and his patient as the medic welded a servo back in place. Sometimes the staring creeped Knockout out, but on this day he just found it annoying.
Once the Vehicon's minor surgery was finished he thanked Knockout and quickly left; also a little disconcerted by the dark red Stunticon's unwavering gaze. Knockout almost chuckled at how jumpy the Vehicon was. He knew the other three Stunticons had a tendency to bully and chase down Megatron's faceless mooks. Wildrider was especially persistent in catching running Vehicons and ripping them apart; leaving the survivors to be repaired by Knockout. Yes, Knockout was beginning to hate Breakdown's family.
A few breems later the medbay doors opened again, this time to admit their SIC Dreadwing. The large blue seeker's wings were bent at odd angles, and his cockpit was broken.
"Yeesh, what happened to you?" Knockout asked in a tone that offered no real concern but no criticism either.
"Motormaster," Dreadwing growled darkly as he shuffled into the medbay and sat down on a berth, "Just hurry up and fix me, now!"
"Wow, I'm not used to seeing you so testy," Knockout commented even as he started gathering tools to repair the damage, "Do you want a local anesthetic for the pain? I can only offer a cable link-up since somebody," Here Knockout glared at Dead End, "Consumed all of my pills."
"That will not be necessary, Doctor," Dreadwing replied in a tone that was calm but bespoke of underlying tension, "I can handle the pain."
"If I may venture a guess," Dead End spoke up for the first time in hours; startling Knockout, "Motormaster ambushed you, didn't he?"
"Yes, and if I felt I could get away with it I would kill him," Dreadwing bit out his words in barely contained rage, "I am his superior officer! That Motormaster has no respect for rank, title, or common decency! If he has a grudge against me he should have made a declaration of formal challenge so that we may have a fair fight. To sneak up on one's superior officer...The last time I saw such utter disrespect was from our former SIC Starscream."
"Tell Motormaster that," Dead End replied with a wry smirk, "Comparing him to Starscream is probably the greatest revenge you could have on him. In fact, include it in your report so that it may forever be in Motormaster's service record. You may die, but it will be hilarious."
"Soldier, do you know why Motormaster attacked me?" Dreadwing asked Dead End while Knockout installed new cockpit glass on Dreadwing's front.
"Isn't it obvious?" Dead End asked rhetorically and without malice, "You are a seeker. Motormaster has always been racist against seekers. Even before the war he thought your people were garbage. Personally I don't think frame type matters, since all Cybertronians are self-destructive glitches, but Motormaster believes grounders are better. Honestly, comparing him to Starscream would probably get you slagged, but it would be worth it. Perhaps I'll mention it instead. After all, he can't kill me."
Dead End then did something Knockout wasn't used to; he laughed. Knockout had never heard Dead End laugh before, and it was honestly very unnerving despite the low volume. Dreadwing, on the other servo, actually started laughing along with him, because Dead End's comments gave him a great idea for retribution. Knockout just continued with repairs and tried to ignore the weirdness in the medbay.
Knockout was wiping used energon off a berth where he had repaired Dreadwing not 5 breems ago. Dead End was still standing in his spot and staring, but the way his optics frequently shuttered let Knockout know the dark red Decepticon was getting tired. Good. Maybe Knockout could finally get some peace. As if the universe had conspired against Knockout's notion for a peaceful evening however, at that very moment the medbay doors opened and in walked a very battered Motormaster.
"Hey, slag pile!" Motormaster yelled at Knockout irritably, "Get off your lazy aft and fix me!"
Knockout cringed not only from Motormaster's aggressive tone but also from the extent of his injuries. Motormaster was oozing energon from several places, he had more dents than the medic could count, and one of his optics had been punched out. In short, Motormaster looked like he'd been shoved in an active rock tumbler with a slew of rocks and knives.
"Lay here on the berth," Knockout ordered in a muted tone of voice, "I'll set up an IV of medical grade energon and start repairing you right away."
Motormaster snorted in reply and then layed down as he had been told. Dead End watched the scene with morbid curiosity. Just who was dumb enough to try to scrap Motormaster that badly?
"So, what happened?" Knockout asked the question that had already been burning in Dead End's processor.
"Megatron," Motormaster growled dejectedly, "He overheard me sayin' somethin' about fliers, and he got real fragged off. I always forget Megatron's a flier. He's too powerful and smart to be a flier."
"You deserved this, you know that right?" Dead End asked unsympathetically.
"Oh, shut up you worthless wreck!" Motormaster snapped at his smirking brother, "I oughtta pound that smug face plate of yours into a license plate!"
"Doesn't change anything," Dead End shrugged; the triumphant smirk never leaving his face, "You shouldn't have pulled a Starscream earlier. Backstabbing a superior officer. What did you expect would happen?"
"GET OUT!" Motormaster bellowed angrily, and Dead End sauntered off without a word or any seeming concern for his own wellbeing, "Frag, sometimes I can't stand him! You agree with me though, right doc? About fliers?"
"I admit I wish more of our fellow Decepticons appreciated a fine set of wheels," Knockout replied easily while continuing to weld fuel lines and pop out dents from the semi's frame, "However, I won't begrudge those who choose wings over tires. Now Insecticons, those are the real freaks."
Motormaster involuntarily shuddered; apparently agreeing with Knockout's statement. For a few moments neither said anything else as Knockout made the necessary repairs and Motormaster winced every time Knockout's welding torch hit a sensitive cable or piece of armor. Finally though, Motormaster broke the silence.
"You mentioned Insecticons," Motormaster said guardedly, "Dead End told me the one that killed Breakdown was an Insecticon femme. Is that why you hate them so much?"
"I must admit it's a factor," Knockout replied somewhat reluctantly, "The Insecticon mechs aren't any better though. They're little more than drones, yet somehow they manage to cause way too much trouble."
"Heh. Sounds like Wildrider and Drag Strip," Motormaster joked, but then in a more serious tone said, "Don't worry about that eight-legged glitch. When I find her I'll make her wish she had never onlined. Hey, you wanna be there when we scrap her? I know Breakdown meant a lot to you. I'll let you pull off one of her legs."
"That's okay," Knockout dismissed the idea, "I mean, it's not that I don't want to, it's just that...I know how she is. Airachnid would probably use her dying words to describe in vivid detail how she killed Breakdown, and I don't want to remember my best friend that way. I want to remember the good things we did together, and imagining him in horrible agony would soil those memories."
"You're a real thinker, huh?" Motormaster scoffed as he scratched at a fresh weld, "No wonder Dead End is always in here. Personally, I think if you overthink everythin' then you won't get anythin' done."
Knockout shrugged at those words and continued with repairs. He wasn't as uncomfortable with Motormaster when he was leaking energon on a med berth, but he still wasn't completely comfortable around him either. He knew that even though Motormaster was being nice to him now that could all change in an instant. He also considered that Megatron probably didn't like this mech right now. It probably wasn't safe to try to be Motormaster's friend just yet.
Fortunately for Knockout when the repairs were done Motormaster was quick to leave the medbay. Apparently Motormaster hated the medbay as much as Dead End loved it. Dead End...Knockout only then realized Dead End wasn't standing there like an annoying shadow, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He could finally catalogue his supplies in peace.
Drag Strip and Wildrider snickered as they snuck around corridors and hallways with their prize; several raw energon crystals. They quickly and covertly took the stolen crystals to Drag Strip's quarters and then Wildrider locked the door before any unseen foe could catch them in the act.
"Aw, mech! This is gonna be great!" Wildrider grinned wide as he watched Drag Strip set up the distillery.
"I know. I can't believe those slaggin' grunts just leave this stuff lyin' around," Drag Strip added gleefully as he adjusted a few tubes in his contraption.
Drag Strip was known to be a competitive mech that loved sports and considered racing to be serious business. Most would not categorize the yellow motorcycle-former as intelligent, but he did have one gift that he kept secret from the rest of the world: chemistry. Drag Strip and Wildrider loved getting tanked on high grade, and no one could make high grade like Drag Strip. As soon as they arrived on the Nemesis Drag Strip collected parts to improve his energon distillery so they could make even better (more intoxicating) energon.
Wildrider practically danced as he watched his brother work. Out of all the Stunticons, Wildrider and Drag Strip were probably the closest to being friends with each other. They both liked getting in trouble, they were both competitive and rebellious, and they both could be very immature. Drag Strip wasn't certifiably insane like Wildrider, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand his brother's seemingly random sense of humor. Of course that didn't work both ways. Oftentimes Wildrider wouldn't understand when Drag Strip was joking about something, which could sometimes lead to some awkward pauses or hasty explanations.
"When is it gonna be done?" Wildrider asked impatiently, "You haven't even put in all the crystals yet!"
"I can't rush it, you idiot," Drag Strip barked as he slowly fed a crystal into the grinder, "If these crystals all went in at once, then we'd have a-"
"What? Have a what?" Wildrider prodded when Drag Strip suddenly stopped talking.
"Shh!" Drag Strip hissed, "Shut up, Wildrider! Motormaster's on the comm."
Drag Strip listened patiently as his eldest brother spoke. Since Drag Strip had the fastest wheels in the group he was being ordered to deliver a report to Soundwave for the entire group. Sometimes Drag Strip hated it that he and his brothers were all seen as a single unit, and this was definitely one of those times.
"Hey Wildrider, I've gotta go give a data pad to the creepy guy in the mask," Drag Strip informed him.
"You mean Zorro?" Wildrider rattled off confusedly.
"Who? Oh, never mind!" Drag Strip groused, "Just stay here and monitor our booze. Feed the crystals in slowly, and when they're all in there flip the green switch. Not the yellow one, the green one. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, flip the green switch," Wildrider repeated; a little annoyed that his brother thought he wouldn't remember.
"Good," Drag Strip nodded sharply before rolling away and leaving his brother alone with the machine.
Wildrider tried to do a good job, he really did, when he diligently took that first crystal and slowly fed it through the machine. It didn't take long to get bored, however. He groaned when he realized how long it took the grinder to crush up the crystals. His wrist was cramping from lack of movement, and the other crystals looked so lonely without their crushed companion. He looked at them and could almost hear them screaming for their lost little crystal, and he wanted to make their suffering stop.
If it's one thing Wildrider's brothers taught him it's that when something is suffering you're supposed to kill it, so that's what he did. He scooped up all the crystals and tried to push them into the grinder with the other one as hard as he could. When they wouldn't go down he used both servos to push down, and then started using his entire weight to push them down. Before long he heard a creaking noise and thought the crystals were finally bending to his will. He was wrong.
The entire distillery broke and pieces of it went flying everywhere! Wildrider fell down on his face plate, and it took him a few seconds to realize what had happened. He sat up and noticed a large hunk of shrapnel in his forearm, so he yanked it out and howled in pain as energon started pouring from the wound. He then pulled out more shrapnel from his legs, which bled a little less but was still leaking all over the floor. He looked at the mess of broken crystals and pieces of pot metal everywhere, and he keened in misery as he realized he was in trouble.
That distillery went everywhere with Drag Strip! It had been on countless missions with the Stunticons, and had provided countless hours of blissful overcharged fun. This was probably his brother's most prized possession, and Wildrider ruined it! He considered running, but there was nowhere to go, so he settled for trying to fix the broken machine.
Wildrider spent over an hour trying to hot glue pieces of the distillery back together, yet somehow forgot to glue his injuries shut or even go to the medbay about them. No matter how hard he tried, however, the distillery wasn't coming back. It was gone, nothing more than a modern art sculpture, and Wildrider was probably going to join it when his brothers found out what he'd done.
Drag Strip came back in a few minutes later to find Wildrider sitting on the floor leaking energon from his arm and legs, holding the fractured still and wearing the most pitiful expression on his face plate. He looked just like a kicked puppy, and he was still holding the hot glue gun (which was still dripping down his servo).
"What happened?" Drag Strip asked harshly.
"Drag Strip, I can explain!" Wildrider exclaimed, though he didn't even make an effort to stand up due to low energy.
"Wildrider, you idiot! Look what you've done!" Drag Strip shouted, and Wildrider cringed, "You broke my brother!"
"I didn't mean to do it!" Wildrider cried out; his processor not yet catching up, "I'm sorry about your- brother? Wait, what?"
"Look at you!" Drag Strip chided as he gestured to the gash in Wildrider's arm, "You cut yourself up somethin' fierce, and you've just been sittin' here like a city-former while your life bleeds away! Get up, you fragger! We gotta get to the medbay and fix this mess right now!"
"But...What about the still?" Wildrider asked even while Drag Strip was helping him get to his feet.
"Knockout don't know nothin' about fixin' stills," Drag Strip waved it away, "You come with me to the medbay and get yourself fixed! If you die I'm not talkin' to you ever again! You got that?"
Wildrider gasped, hating the idea of being rejected and not fully comprehending the humor in the statement.
"I'll get fixed up! Don't stop talkin' to me!" Wildrider quickly promised as they walked down the hallways, "I'm sorry I broke me. I won't do it again."
""You better not," Drag Strip nodded sharply in his typical fashion, "Because if I had to tell Motormaster you died, I don't even have high grade to keep him busy while I run away."
Drag Strip then laughed at his own statement, and that caused Wildrider to laugh too, Soon Knockout was repairing Wildrider and Drag Strip was keeping him distracted so the medic could work; all worries about the distillery forgotten.