Notwithstanding the word count, Dead End is the one Stunticon to give me consistent writer's block.
Transformers © Hasbro.
"Autobot base, this is Dead End! We need immediate medical evacuation at these coordinates!"
Dead End was mid-transformation as he commed the Autobot base, his pedes slamming to the ground beside Drag Strip. Motormaster's damaged frame gave him pause for a fraction of a second, but only for a second.
Motormaster could afford nothing more.
Wildrider skidded to his knees before Motormaster's helm, servos shaking as he reached down to gently hold their brother's helm. A wounded keen escaped from Wildrider as his digits brushed across deep scorch marks that marred the semi's faceplate. Muttered pleas whispered from the Ferrari, pleading for his brother to survive. For Motormaster to not leave them.
In the periphery of his vision, Dead End observed Breakdown join Drag Strip in their attempt to staunch Motormaster's exsanguination of energon. Breakdown's helm was lowered, his shoulders hunched into his frame as if to make himself vastly smaller. Dead End reached out to Breakdown, his touch hesitant but warm. Yellow optics met Dead End's visored gaze, a silent question one Dead End could not answer.
The whirl of a ground bridge snapped Dead End's helm to their right. Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Grapple and Jazz rushed through to the Stunticons' side. Dead End felt himself observing Ratchet as he scrambled to stabilize Motormaster as if Dead End was not present. His processor swirled with emotion more than thought, even as he responded to Ratchet's commands to apply a mesh patch or tamp off one of Motormaster's fuel lines without truly acknowledging his own actions.
Dead End blinked, aware of the maroon and black servos applying pressure to one of Motormaster's damaged fuel lines. He was dissociating.
How… curious.
Detached, Dead End tilted his helm.
Perhaps he had discovered a trigger for what the therapist called his "dissociative state".
Fascinating.
A sudden heavy weight against his shoulder plate startled Dead End back into the present, and his body. Optimus Prime peered down at him, brow furrowed with seemingly permanent worry. "Dead End, it's time to go."
"Y-yes, sir."
Dead End missed the secondary, ever more worried, glance Optimus Prime sent him at his obedient response. He felt Optimus help him to his pedes, then steady him as Dead End's legs shook from underneath him. The Autobot leader practically carried Dead End to the active ground bridge, before he turned around to assist Grapple with hauling Motormaster through the ground bridge. Ratchet followed after the Prime and his patient, leaving Jazz to corral the stunned Stunticons.
With Jazz's urging, Breakdown, Wildrider and Drag Strip trudged through the ground bridge. Dead End glanced back at the side of the road where Drag Strip had found Motormaster, a queasy feeling rolling through his tank at the vibrant glow of spilled energon. Then, when he felt Jazz's servos lock around his chassis to push him towards the ground bridge, did Dead End finally look away.
He and Jazz arrived through the ground bridge directly into the medical bay, which was alight with a fervor of movement. Motormaster was already laid out on a berth, while Ratchet — and Hook — worked rapidly to repair the semi. Dead End stood where the ground bridge had deposited him, optics locked onto his stricken brother, unable to move.
Distantly, he heard Jazz speaking to him, the intonation of his words and the furrowed set of his brow the only reason Dead End looked towards the head of Special Operations. "We need to leave them to it. Motormaster's in good hands."
"No." Dead End shook Jazz's servo away from him, the glare he sent the Autobot purely Decepticon in its ferocity. "I am his second in command. I must stay here."
Jazz looked like he was going to protest, only for a word from Optimus to stop him before he'd even opened his mouth. With an understanding nod of his head, Jazz reassured Dead End that he would keep an optic on the other Stunticons, then left with a whispered "good luck" that did little to help Dead End's worry.
Was this not what he had bemoaned would happen for so long?
That the Stunticons would be deactivated.
Their lives cut shorter than they already were.
But I never wanted it to be one of my brothers.
Dead End did not leave Motormaster's side.
Not as the hours passed by him in a depressing, sinking sensation of despair.
Hook, First Aid and Ratchet worked around him, ignoring the fatalistic muttering that slipped from the maroon car.
Optimus came through multiple times to offer energon to the three medics, and Dead End. Dead End took none of the energon offered to him. The mere thought of eating made the Stunticon's tank roll.
Only when Ratchet, First Aid and Hook finished what repairs they could did Dead End look up from the spot on the floor he'd been staring at constantly. There were stains on the floor that made the vain side of Dead End desperate for an oil bath.
"How is he?" Dead End asked as he straightened, though he kept himself disciplined enough to not approach the medics or Motormaster's berth.
Hook didn't answer as he washed his servos under the sink. Dead End did not fail to notice a subtle shake to Hook's servos, even as the Constructicon attempted to shift his back to block Dead End's view. Feeling awkward at his unintended intrusion, Dead End turned from looking at Hook to watch Ratchet finish checking Motormaster's scans.
"Motormaster has been placed under manual stasis," Ratchet explained, his helm tilted just slightly in the Porsche's direction as he spoke. "We repaired what we could. The rest will have to be repaired by his nanites."
He would live.
Motormaster would recover.
"Thank you," Dead End whispered, suddenly exhausted.
Ratchet gave a grunt as his response, though Dead End knew enough about Ratchet to understand the medic's responding grunt wasn't meant as anything more than his own inability to accept thanks easily. Hook finished washing his servos as Ratchet continued to check Motormaster's vitals, before the Constructicon approached Dead End.
A scowl rested across Hook's face plate as he placed a servo on Dead End's shoulder plate, then gestured to the door out of the medical bay. "Return to your brothers, Dead End."
Dead End frowned, his optics casting his gaze past Hook to Ratchet and Motormaster, then turned to Hook, servos raised in an imploring gesture that Ratchet cut off with his own, somewhat cold but level, demand.
"Get out of my medical bay."
Heat flushed through Dead End's frame even as he nodded in quiet assent. With a careful shifting of his servo to remove Hook's servo from his shoulder plate, Dead End left the medical bay. The moment he crossed the threshold of the medical bay, the Porsche lowered the blocks around his gestalt bond.
An immediate flood of voices hit him.
Wildrider was the first voice he could distinguish, the anxiety that smashed across the bond as if born from a tsunami nearly overwhelming Dead End. ::. Is Motors okay? What happened? How did this happen? We can't lose him. Please don't take him— .::
Before Wildride's thoughts overpowered him, Drag Strip interrupted the devolving panic not with one of his once prototypical insults, but a calm, worried reassurance. ::. Let 'End speak. Motormaster's fine. He's tough. We all know that. .::
::. But I can't sense him through the bond! .::
::. Ratchet and Hook placed Motormaster into manual stasis after they finished his repairs. We will not be able to sense Motormaster through the bond until he is out of manual stasis, but he shall recover. .:: Dead End explained before Drag Strip or Wildrider could speak again, his own pessimism running underneath his words — to the detriment of his three worried brothers.
Drag Strip opened a private comms with Dead End, demanding to know the truth, while Wildrider latched onto Dead End's pessimism and began spiraling — a sensation that left the bond unsettled and twisted, unaided by Breakdown's misery and paranoia racing through all of their processors.
::. Enough, .:: Dead End ordered, a fierce bite to his order that rendered the remaining three Stunticons silent. ::. He will not be deactivated. Ratchet and Hook have assured he will not with the repairs they could do for him. .::
Silence met his statement, but for a defeated vent from Breakdown.
That same defeat and misery clouded the Stunticons' room in the Ark, large enough for all five to fit whenever they stayed overnight on the Ark, but not large enough to make them wish to stay. Not that the Autobots had not offered them larger quarters for their visits, Prime had insisted, but Motormaster had declined. Dead End was not entirely sure whether the denial was out of the semi's sense of pride, or a desire to not inconvenience the Autobots further.
Whatever his reason, Dead End would not let the Stunticons waste it.
He was quick to corral his three brothers, reassuring them until all four fell into a restless recharge.
Three days passed before Ratchet pulled Motormaster out of his manual stasis.
The Stunticons kept themselves occupied in those three days, working odd jobs around the Ark as was needed. Drag Strip's presence with the Constructicons, who had not left yet both due to the repairs the Ark's exhaust ports still required as well as Hook's assistance being needed in the medical bay, over the three days was something Dead End knew he'd have to discuss with Motormaster once the semi was well enough.
Breakdown and Wildrider stuck close to Dead End as much as possible, shadowing him to the medical bay and beyond. Most worrying was that Dead End had been woken up in the middle of a recharge to Wildrider muttering to himself, his expression so withdrawn and distant Dead End had to access old data on his brother to recognize that Wildrider had to have been hearing voices again. Only after waking Drag Strip and Breakdown and then talking to Wildrider through the gestalt bond did their brother's mind return to the present.
Another matter Dead End would need to inform Motormaster of.
Breakdown's paranoia had resurfaced, even amongst the Autobots who he had befriended. All Dead End ever heard from Breakdown's side of the bond was him nervously reciting the status of Motormaster that they were given every day by Ratchet, First Aid or Hook. No amount of reassurance calmed Breakdown's thoughts, so Dead End had taken to assigning Breakdown to completing remote work for the Autobots so that his brother could stay hidden in their quarters.
When Ratchet commed their quarters, informing them that Motormaster was waking from his stasis and the Stunticons would be able to visit him without the Autobots present, it took every ounce of restraint for Dead End to keep his brothers from blitzing down the Ark's hallways to the medical bay. When they stepped into the medical bay, only Hook was present, though the Constructicon looked irritated to some degree as he looked towards the four Stunticons.
"Don't worry," Hook deadpanned when he noticed Drag Strip's affronted expression at his presence, "I am only here to make sure he doesn't deactivate while Ratchet is away."
::. Leave it, Drag Strip, .:: the reprimand was immediate from Dead End, as was the glare from his brother.
A snort from Hook was all the Constructicon had to say as Drag Strip deflated with a pointed grumble, though his temper receded quite promptly once the Stunticon focused on Motormaster. The semi looked in far better shape than when they'd first found him. The weld marks of where he'd been repaired were buffed down, almost imperceptible, and, but for the memory of Motormaster's injuries, one could be mistaken in believing he had never been hurt.
Motormaster stirred awake, his purple optics resetting blearily as Breakdown rushed first to the semi's side. A surprised grunt hissed from the semi as Wildrider, from his right side, slammed Motormaster into a hug. Drag Strip stood to the side, next to Dead End, while their two brothers fussed over Motormaster.
"Hey," Motormaster greeted. Purple optics moved slowly to look towards Drag Strip and Dead End, a question set deep into Motormaster's faceplate that none of them could answer.
Dead End stepped forward as Drag Strip propped himself up onto the little bit of space left on the berth, the Porsche's arms crossed over his chest. "You survived. How fortunate. Or unfortunate, depending on your point of view."
Motormaster blinked, confused.
Breakdown and Wildrider gawked openly at Dead End, their horrified expressions making Dead End mirror Motormaster's confused expression — until a deep, rumbling laugh escaped from Motormaster.
"I'm glad to have survived too," Motormaster chuffed through his laughter, the unexpected feeling of the semi's servo gently rubbing at Dead End's helm drawing Dead End stiff with a confused rumble from his engine.
Perhaps the sedatives are affecting him more than Ratchet or Hook expected, Dead End surmised, even as he leaned into Motormaster's touch.
The semi was the warmest of the Stunticons, a fact they had often bemoaned when all five lived on the Victory and physical closeness was as hated by Motormaster as he'd hated Optimus Prime. All four of them treasured the grouchy, accepting Motormaster who gave them physical comfort — and always with the gentlest of servos and intentions — whenever any of them needed it. Dead End himself, vain and aloof as he acted, sought out his eldest brother just to feel Motormaster's warm chassis against his.
Primus was he thankful their bond was so attuned to the others. He could not imagine what would have happened to Motormaster if none of them had felt his distress through their gestalt bond.
Breakdown and Drag Strip were soon nestled against their leader's side, while Wildrider draped himself over Motormaster's legs. Dead End had propped himself into a chair at the side of his brother's berth, his legs crossed as he watched his brothers. Motormaster hadn't questioned them on his place yet, nor had he done much but shut his optics and rest.
Dead End worried Motormaster was not fully aware of his position.
A vent broke through the quiet of the medical bay as Dead End shifted in the chair, his left servo moving to tap Motormaster's shoulder plate. Purple optics turned to face Dead End, the concern in Motormaster's optics and across his faceplate still was a sight Dead End could not get enough of. Motormaster looked soft, for no better word, as he maneuvered his right arm out from where it was wrapped around Drag Strip to latch onto Dead End's arm.
"What?" Motormaster whispered, his brow furrowed with that perpetual look of concern.
"I—"
A groaned "not now" from Wildrider interrupted Dead End before he could formulate how to broach the subject of Motormaster's injury. The Ferrari unfurled from his position over Motormaster's legs, optics narrowed with warning, and a quiet plea, that Dead End couldn't disobey.
"Nothing," Dead End replied.
Motormaster watched him for a long moment, then vented. Relenting, Motormaster squeezed Dead End's arm, then released his hold on the Porsche.
Wildrider huffed, a slight surge in the bond all the given warning before Drag Strip yanked Dead End down to join in on the Stunticon cuddle pile. A sharp protest fell from Dead End, only for his attempt to escape to be foiled by Drag Strip wrapping his arms around the Porsche's frame with a growled "stay still" that Dead End did not feign protest against.
The quiet rumble of engines was a pleasant white noise to Dead End's audials as he settled against Drag Strip's frame, aware of the large servo of Motormaster laid over their backstruts. It was pleasant to once again nestle against his brothers. This was where they were the safest. Where Dead End's pessimism waned to a mere memory.
A muttered "Newsparks" from the back of the medical bay caused Dead End to startle, his optics wide as he remembered Hook's presence. Perturbed by the Constructicon's presence, Dead End lowered his helm to avoid looking at Hook.
Hook did not make that easy, though.
With a pointed grumble, and what Dead End believed was the actual physical sound of optics rolling, Hook cleared his vocalizer. "As it is clear that Motormaster will not deactivate, I shall leave you five to your own devices."
The crane could not have moved faster out of the medical bay than if he'd been pursued by an under-fueled Starscream. A low chuff boomed from Motormaster as the door to the medical bay shut behind Hook's rapid retreat. Dead End vented as Motormaster continued to amuse himself with soft, rumbling laughs, his spark lightening at the rare but always welcome sound from their oldest brother.
Ratchet, datapad in one servo and a stony, concentrated frown over his faceplate, looked down at Motormaster, a clearing of his vocalizer pulling the semi's attention to the ambulance. "Do you recall what happened to you?"
Motormaster blinked, optics shifting from Ratchet to where Hook was hovering at the edge of the group of Stunticons, medics and Optimus Prime, then back to Ratchet. "Not really."
The Stunticons had been allowed to stay with Motormaster for a few hours alone, before Ratchet had arrived with Optimus and Hook in tow. Their arrival had woken Breakdown, Wildrider and Motormaster, who had all fallen into recharge at some point, while Drag Strip and Dead End had been unable to rest.
Dead End had positioned himself close, but not too close, to Motormaster's berth. He took immense pride in his role as second in command since they'd left the Decepticons. A display of support in Dead End hovering close enough to Motormaster to comfort him was the most he could accomplish in the moment.
Ratchet made a contemplative sound from his engine at Motormaster's response. "You remember nothing? Not who attacked you or how you ended up near the Snake River in Idaho?"
Motormaster shook his helm, seeming exceptionally small as he stared metaphorical holes into his servos. Hot shame rippled along the gestalt bond, its presence one Dead End wished he could extinguish. Shame was one emotion that was prone to waking Menasor, his anger clashing with his components' shame in an explosive match that often left the Stunticons physically exhausted from their combiner's unbidden rage at whatever slight had caused shame in his components. Worse so when it was Motormaster whose bond surged with shame.
"You aren't in trouble for not remembering," Ratchet vented, his tone exhausted. "The damage to your neural net was extensive. Memory loss is expected."
Motormaster flicked his gaze to Dead End, searching the Porsche's faceplate for something. Dead End stepped forward minutely, a touch of his servo to Motormaster's shoulder plate the most support he could muster. Motormaster jerked his helm to peer up at Dead End before his gaze returned to Ratchet.
"Can you explain what happened again? Maybe that will jog my memories." The doubt in Motormaster's voice hurt.
He was the Stunticon who remained solid and stoic. Not one plagued with self doubt and anxiety. Not since their exile.
"It's alright," the words slipped from Dead End's vocalizer before he realized what he was doing, the servo he'd placed on Motormaster's shoulder plate pressing a reassuring squeeze against the now healed plating.
Motormaster glanced up to Dead End again, his optics bright with thanks, though the Porsche could feel the undercurrent of doubt deep within their bond. Ratchet waited until Motormaster turned his attention back to the medic before Ratchet detailed every injury Motormaster had sustained.
Neural net damage.
Critical damage to his spark chamber.
Severed arm.
Broken fuel lines and a ruptured fuel tank.
Extensive damage to his chassis.
Even damage to his t-cog.
When Ratchet finished listing out Motormaster's injuries, the semi let out a drawn vent. His optics shifted from Ratchet to the floor, providing Ratchet the turn to address the Stunticons.
"I am remiss to ask something of such a personal matter of you four, but are any of you able to access Motormaster's memories of the incident through your gestalt bond?"
"No," Dead End shook his helm in emphasis, his optics shifting past Ratchet. "I have attempted your suggestion already and received nothing but for the same feeling of being injured as what led us to him."
"I see," Ratchet nodded, the defeated sink of his shoulder plates as he turned back to Motormaster nearly imperceptible to Dead End.
But he'd seen it nonetheless.
Before Dead End could dwell on his limited understanding of Ratchet, Motormaster let out a small, thoughtful sound from his vocalizer. Something slithered through the gestalt bond, so brief Dead End wondered if he'd imagined it, as Motormaster picked through his memories in full purview of his brothers.
"I remember… Swindle," Motormaster deduced, his brows furrowed as he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "I think he's the one who attacked me."
Shock rippled through the bond from Breakdown, a tiny whine hissing from his engine as a flash of memories surged through the bond from Breakdown. Dead End turned to the gestalt bond to calm Breakdown before he allowed himself to overthink the last time the Stunticons had crossed blasters with the Combaticons. He understood why Breakdown's instinctive response was fear around any Combaticon when it had been the Combaticons who had nearly killed Wildrider, Drag Strip and Dead End himself the last time they'd met.
"The Combaticon Swindle?" Hook sounded incredulous, a fact that seemed to annoy Motormaster, who gave Hook a roll of his optics.
It seemed Motormaster was oblivious to Breakdown's surge of emotions, for irritation soon drowned Breakdown's overthinking into a tiny eddy.
"Unless there is another yellow and purple Jeep named Swindle that I don't know of, yes. The Combaticon Swindle."
Hook's expression was haunted, the visor and face mask retracting to expose a deep frown. "That should not be possible. Swindle was killed. That is why the Combaticons left Earth."
"It was Swindle, impossible or not," Motormaster insisted, his expression growing rapidly with poorly veiled consternation.
Dead End knew Motormaster wasn't lying. The bond made it clear that Swindle was the one who had attacked the semi, even if Hook seemed doubtful Swindle was still online, for Dead End recognized the energy of the Combaticon's gestalt bond through Motormaster's recollection of when he'd been attacked.
"It was Swindle," Dead End interjected before Hook, or anyone else, could pitch in, his gaze locked firmly on Hook's visor. "We — Motormaster — felt the presence of another gestalt bond when he was attacked. I can feel Bruticus' presence from Menasor. Motormaster is not making this up."
Hook's expression did not shift much from his haunted look, though he relented from his questioning with a conflicted "understood".
Optimus muttered something to Ratchet before the Prime turned to the Stunticons, then Hook. "I will have Red Alert and Teletraan-1 search for Swindle. Perhaps we can find him and he will explain why he attacked Motormaster."
"Good luck with that," Drag Strip sneered, though far too quietly for anyone but the Stunticons to hear.
Dead End sent Drag Strip a silencing glare that had the Stunticon snap his mouth shut, though not without a pronounced roll of his optics beforehand. Ratchet seemed to notice the sarcasm from Drag Strip and promptly booted the Stunticons, including Dead End, from the medical bay with a long winded explanation on medical procedures that had all four bored out of their processors before they left.
"This Autobot is often found traveling as a duo, and was featured, unintentionally, in a human film. Who—"
"Hoist!"
"Correct. Well done."
"Next one."
Dead End chuckled at Motormaster's eagerness, then flipped his flashcards to the next Autobot's description. Two days had passed since Motormaster had been brought from manual stasis, two days in which Dead End and Motormaster had been working closely to understand where Motormaster's memory was lacking, and helping him jog his memories back with repeated puzzles, games and memory tests. The repeated effort had already seen an improvement in Motormaster's memory recollection, though the absence of any memory of what had happened leading up to his injuries aside from being attacked by Swindle remained conspicuously absent.
"This Autobot would prefer that peace be obtained through any means but war. One could argue that he hates war, but the Autobots would still consider him an essential part of their group even for traits akin to pacifism. Which Autobot could this be?"
Motormaster frowned, his optics darting back and forth as he rubbed at his chin, then answered with a hesitant voice. "First Aid?"
"No," Dead End said with a shake of his helm. "This Autobot enjoys nature, finding it cleansing for his mental and physical health." Like Wildrider.
Motormaster tilted his helm, purple optics narrowing considerably. Dead End could practically feel Motormaster running through his databanks of every Autobot on the Ark, until he seemed to find his answer.
"Beachcomber. Correct?"
"Correct. You are improving."
A smile crossed Motormaster's faceplate before he could stop it, the genuine joy that flooded from his brother even pulling at Dead End's mouth with happiness. He turned the flashcard over then read out the next Autobot's information.
Dead End had ordered his brothers to return to their home, to finish the repairs they had waiting at the auto shop. Breakdown had been reluctant, but listened and left without argument, unlike Drag Strip and Wildrider. Both argued that Motormaster needed them at his side, until Motormaster had agreed with Dead End and silenced all protests. All three had since checked in with Dead End and Motormaster alike, but none seemed in a rush to return to the Ark with the knowledge Motormaster was going to be okay.
Dead End could say he felt the same way as his three brothers.
He was no longer as tense, or as pessimistically withdrawn as he spent countless hours with the semi. He could see the improvement from when they'd found the semi. That was all he needed to fight through that internal depth of misery that lingered deep within Dead End.
The duo had worked through a few more flashcards when the door to the medical bay opened suddenly.
Dead End turned to see who had entered, only for Motormaster to answer that with a strangled gasp that sounded very much unlike himself.
"Lord Megatron!" The crack in Motormaster's vocalizer was nowhere near as loud as the flinch that clanged like the Victory's claxon from the semi.
Terror, genuine terror overwhelmed the bond as Motormaster crawled backwards against his berth, his servos tucked close to his chest as he stared at Megatron. Dead End could only stare at his brother, unaccustomed to such a demonstrative display from his stoic leader. Since when was Motormaster afraid of Megatron?
"Easy," Dead End whispered to Motormaster, his attempt at reassurance punctuated by a gentle servo laid heavily over Motormaster's shoulder plate.
"Calm down," Megatron said, though Dead End noticed that the former Decepticon leader had not moved an inch closer to them with Motormaster's adverse reaction to him, "I came here seeking only to see how you are."
Dead End looked between Motormaster and Megatron, his optics narrowing as Motormaster's terror turned to—
"I expected better from you, Motormaster. Your team's inconsistency has caused me great embarrassment."
Megatron's voice circled Dead End — no, Motormaster, he was seeing Motormaster's memories — before he stopped in front of Motormaster with a cruel, dark look in his optics. Before Motormaster could explain, Megatron's fusion cannon erupted, sending the semi hurtling across Megatron's throne room to crash against the wall of the Victory with a resounding clang.
Megatron stalked towards him—
Motormaster kept his optics fixed to the ground even as rage simmered deep inside him at Megatron's insults. The leader had called him to his throne room the moment Motormaster had woken for the day. Motormaster had been excited to be personally called on by their leader for the first time in weeks, only for Megatron's intentions to be made clear when he struck the semi upon entry into the Decepticon leader's throne room—
Pain lanced through Motormaster as he lay on the floor of the throne room, energon spilling from his mouth where Megatron's fist had broken his jaw—
"Pathetic."
Metal slammed against metal, Megatron's red optics inches from Motormaster's own. Sharp denta were bared in a near gleeful, sadistic grin—
Breakdown's optics widened as Motormaster's servo locked around his neck plating. Metal crunched under huge digits at his command—
Dead End slammed the walls of the gestalt bond shut with a strangled cry. Heat burst along his chassis as his fuel lines hissed and heaved. He'd felt every strike.
Every punch.
Each blast of the fusion cannon.
Every hit was eerily similar to the way Motormaster used to subjugate the Stunticons, but… worse. Motormaster had loved — still loved, though Dead End knew Motormaster could not come to terms with his continued affection for their former leader after what Megatron had done to them — Megatron as something akin to a father figure from the moment they'd been given their personalities and consciousness. The Stunticons had cared about each other, but Motormaster had not recognized his love for his brothers until their exile and decades of living together.
Dead End could do little more than shudder.
"I'm fine, sir."
The whisper that came from Dead End's side, from Motormaster, shook. Terror continued to pound through the bond, even with Dead End strangling it shut with his mental blocks. He could only imagine what Motormaster was remembering as Megatron continued to stand awkwardly near the doorway.
Dead End felt himself rise to his pedes to face Megatron, his frame positioned to guard Motormaster from Megatron.
"I believe it best that you return at a later date, with Optimus Prime."
Megatron opened his mouth, but closed it without a word said to either. Dead End straightened to his full height, optics narrowed behind his visor. Silence chilled the medical bay until—
"Alright. I understand."
Megatron dipped his helm to Dead End, said a quiet apology to Motormaster, then left with a hiss of door hydraulics.
The whine of Motormaster's fans drew Dead End to face his brother, a worried sound escaping from the Porsche before he pressed himself next to Motormaster.
"Easy. Those are old memories. He will never touch you again."
Motormaster's vents heaved, then a quiet sob burst from the semi. Dead End leaned closer to Motormaster, his field expanding with a warm, comforting energy Skydive had displayed to him years ago.
::. You're safe. .::
Wildrider bounced on his pedes beside Dead End, excitement snapping off his field in bright waves of energy.
Breakdown stood, hunched onto his pedes ever so slightly, his gaze focused on the Aerialbots speaking to Optimus.
Drag Strip was pacing — or prowling, to be more accurate — around the gathered Stunticons, his helm fixated on the black, gray and purple mech speaking to the Aerialbots and Prime.
Today was the first day the entire team of Stunticons would get to drive together since Motormaster's injuries two weeks before. They were all eager, Dead End included — at least, Dead End presumed Motormaster was eager, judging off how he'd approached the Prime for clearance to travel from the Ark.
A cheerful laugh from Silverbolt, accompanied by the Concorde good-naturedly squeezing Motormaster's shoulder plate, preceded the Aerialbots, Motormaster and Prime approaching all four of them.
Optimus was all smiles as he invited the team of former Decepticon grounders to travel to Portland for a relaxed drive. All four accepted with relief, no matter how boring the aspect of road tripping a short drive with the Prime was.
Wildrider drove circles around Optimus as they traveled towards Portland, his tires spinning as the Ferrari laughed excitedly. Drag Strip, surprisingly, did nothing but drive beside Motormaster, a pleased hum throttling through the bond as the yellow Pagani kept pace with the semi. Breakdown was chatting with the Aerialbots through their shared comms, a hint of bemusement a warm sensation through the bond.
Only Motormaster was silent, even through the suddenly closed off gestalt bond.
He had been since Megatron had first visited the semi in the medical bay.
Seeing Megatron for the first time since they had first turned to the Autobots for help after Dead End, Wildrider and Drag Strip had nearly been deactivated in a combined Megatron and Combaticons attack, had triggered something in Motormaster. Since Dead End had seen inside his brother's memories of Megatron's abuse, Motormaster had hardly looked at him, not even during their memorization tests.
The semi's quietness had not improved even when the remaining three Stunticons visited him every weekend. Breakdown, always the one most able to get Motormaster or the others to speak their feelings openly since their defection, had gotten a tired "I'm not in the mood" when he'd implored Motormaster to speak to him. The Lamborghini had not tried a second time.
Megatron had not been seen since by any of the Stunticons — to Dead End's pointed relief.
Dead End was worried for Motormaster, but he had no choice but to give the semi space.
He only hoped Motormaster would work through his thoughts until he could approach his brothers like the Motormaster of prior.
Something hissed along the gestalt bond—
The sound of transformations announced the Aerialbots landing beside the Stunticons as they arrived at the outskirts of Portland, in Newberg. Optimus turned to the ten Cybertronians behind him as he addressed them, still smiling.
"The local drive-in theater has a movie I believe all ten of you would enjoy."
"Enjoyment is a luxury we may not be able to afford," Dead End deadpanned, though he allowed a note of brevity to soften his pessimism into the joke he was intending.
Optimus seemed to get the hint, his own smile unable to hide the snort that escaped from the Autobot leader at Dead End's statement. "Then let us live in the moment while we can, hmm?"
"Why don't we."
The low growl from Motormaster snapped Dead End's helm to his brother. Something slithered through the gestalt bond.
Motormaster's optics narrowed.
Rage.
Hate.
Something felt… wrong.
Something wasn't right.
Motormaster's plating shifted minutely, before Dead End felt, more than heard, the command to combine.
Menasor's mind woke with a throaty, pleased roar.
Dead End's chassis moved of its own accord, without his permission.
Menasor wasn't supposed to do that.
Menasor had agreed never to do that to his components.
Something was wrong.