Transformers © HASBRO
Motormaster thrashed. Screams ruptured from the semi as saws ripped through his plating without pause. Breakdown watched in horror as the humans removed the housing to his brother's spark chamber. Desperate, but futile, attempts from Motormaster to bat the humans away from his chest plate resulted in the restraints locking down his wrists and arms to tighten further over Motormaster.
Rage bounced off the semi as Croft — Croft, Breakdown snarled, his own restraints holding him back from his attempt to lunge at the human — walked over his chest plate, stopping at the exposed housing to his spark. She bent down, her expression mocking as she peered down at the semi's spark. "What would happen if we removed your spark, Motormaster?"
Stark, unfettered fear, broke from Motormaster's field before he could quench it. A fear that Croft seemed to pick up with glee. She rose to her feet with a slow, methodical walk towards Motormaster's faceplate. Breakdown thrashed as he watched the human climb onto Motormaster's helm cowling, the slow, purposeful way she kneeled down so that she was positioned to tower over Motormaster's optic intimidating. One pale human hand lowered, until she patted Motormaster's optic, the insult clear in her touch.
"Leave him be!" Breakdown shouted, only for the press of a servo to his shoulder plate to silence him.
Though only for a moment.
Croft stood from where she was crouched on Motormaster, a flick of her hand summoning the nearest drill to her. Motormaster swallowed, his optics darting towards Breakdown with a look the Lamborghini had only seen a rare few times before.
Defeat.
Breakdown couldn't let this happen. He'd failed to find the Autobots, but he wouldn't fail his brother. Not again.
A deep rumbling tore from his engine, the rattling concussive waves shattering light bulbs as Breakdown lunged for his restraint—
"Breakdown." A servo against his chest plate startled Breakdown out of—
Recharge?
He'd been dreaming?
Two blue optics peered down at him, the familiar faceplate of Silverbolt's inches from his own. Faint stress lines fractured across the Aerialbot's mesh, while Breakdown's engine continued to tick with its threatening concussive rumble. Had… his dream — nightmare? — activated his engine and damaged Silverbolt?
Guilt shot through Breakdown as if his engine had backfired on himself. A rapid apology was waved off by Silverbolt, who leaned back so as to not crowd Breakdown any longer.
"I tried to wake you earlier, but you would not wake. This," Silverbolt gestured to the fractures over his and Skydive's plating, "is nothing."
Breakdown gave Silverbolt a doubtful look before he pushed Silverbolt away from himself with one servo. Silverbolt stepped back from Breakdown, though he offered a single servo to Breakdown to help him up off the Aerialbots' couch. Breakdown took Silverbolt's servo without hesitation, though he quickly let go of the other's servo as he thanked him. He… needed space. To think.
Silverbolt understood and did not question Breakdown as he left the Aerialbots' quarters in a hurry.
His nightmare felt like more than simply a nightmare.
Motormaster's pain had felt real. Not a figment of Breakdown's overzealous imagination. The closeness of Motormaster's hurt could have only come through the gestalt bond. The gestalt bond that had been previously blocked while Breakdown had been in the hands of G.H.O.S.T. The anti-virus coding must have cleared his bond from the blocks Croft's virus had inflicted. That was what Hook had told him, at least.
But if he had felt Motormaster's pain, then the torture he'd seen in his nightmare had been real. Motormaster's fear was real.
Swindle had told him that Croft was torturing Motormaster to ensure compliance, but what about the rest of his brothers? Wildrider's "injury" was a lie Croft had fabricated, wasn't it?
"G.H.O.S.T is a branch of our military that deals in collaborative functions regarding your race, Prime. We would know if they were acting out of jurisdiction. I fail in having faith in this Decepticon, which our records state displays severe cases of paranoid delusions, and his ability to speak truthfully. How are we sure this isn't another one of his delusions?"
Breakdown froze. His fans ticked over as he turned his helm slowly to his left. The door to Optimus Prime's private meeting quarters was left cracked open. Breakdown did not recognize the voice that spoke, filtered as if through one of Teletraan-1's monitors, though the descriptor of himself piqued his interest.
Before he could stop himself, Breakdown creeped to the door, peeking through the crack between the door and the door frame. Inside Optimus' office was Prime and Megatron, both of whom were looking up at the monitor where a human's face was superimposed on the monitor. Megatron had his arms crossed over his chest plate in a manner that made Breakdown flinch before he realized the former Decepticon leader was not angry at him.
Optimus Prime stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the monitor as he placed a servo to his chest plate. "Secretary, I assure you that Breakdown is not lying—"
"You assure me? You assured the United States that the Stunticons were safe. Their attack on Newberg and Philadelphia tells otherwise!"
"Because your military group used a virus to control them!" Megatron snarled as he pushed past Optimus, each word punctuated by a jab of his servo towards the monitor screen.
The human puffed up considerably at Megatron's snarl, disgust plain in his curled nose and sneer. "The evidence I've seen is that your reformed Decepticons destroyed an entire city. Until you can bring me evidence against G.H.O.S.T to prove the claims this Stunticon made, we will continue hunting for the Stunticons we haven't found."
Before Optimus or Megatron could muster a retort, the monitor's connection to the human's server was cut off. Breakdown heard Optimus release a tired, worn down vent before Megatron wheeled on Optimus.
"Why do you work with these humans? They believe only what is easy for them. That man would not even entertain the idea that his secret military branch," Megatron's hiss turned into a snarl that made Breakdown's spark pulse rapidly with fear at its familiarity, "is using Cybertronians against the treaty you and I set."
Before his faulty engine could set off another concussive blast, Breakdown shuttered his optics and took deep vents. His audials tuned up unconsciously at his closed optics, allowing Breakdown to hear every angry hiss of steam from Megatron and concerned twist of hydraulics as Optimus attempted to reassure Megatron.
"Working alongside the government body of this country is how we gained the treaty in the first place. I have no other option but for cooperation—"
"You're cooperating with humans who have killed and tortured countless Decepticons," Megatron growled. "Is our treaty worth any water if half of our race is wiped out by the very humans we had to ratify a treaty with?"
Breakdown did a double take at Megatron's statement, his optics narrowing as he peered into the room. Optimus had leaned up against the table in the middle of the room, his left servo pressing pinched digits against the ridge of his nose. Megatron, in comparison, stalked in tight, militant circles in front of Optimus, the set of his jaw beyond furious.
What did Megatron mean? Was… this what Drag Strip meant when he'd told Breakdown and Wildrider about Scrapper's "rumors" of deactivated Decepticons found in the woods? Was G.H.O.S.T behind those disappearances? Swindle had been declared deceased in the Cybertronian records the Ark held in its library, but the Combaticon was very much alive in G.H.O.S.T's hands.
"I… don't know what to think, Megatron," Optimus admitted through a quiet whisper. "I've yet to see an explanation for those disappearances to argue that it is G.H.O.S.T who has endangered our race, but I… cannot deny I have suspicions."
"Suspicions?" Megatron guffawed, a glint in his optics that preceded him towering over Optimus, plating bristling openly. "Why don't we go to the G.H.O.S.T headquarters to affirm our suspicions."
"Not yet," Optimus vented. "I—"
"Are you going to let G.H.O.S.T keep the Stunticons?"
Megatron shoved himself into Optimus' space at his deep, angered snarl, red optics narrowed with malice and — protectiveness? Impossible.
Breakdown pushed the door to Optimus' office open ever so slightly so that he could peer his helm in between the crack in the door. He watched Megatron with raptured fascination, helm tilted with owlish curiosity as he watched his former leader's faceplate war with emotion.
There was Megatron's ever present anger, but a foreign shock of worry knitted across the tiltrotor's brow. His clawed digits tapped at his arms with near plating denting strength, as if he was restraining himself from hitting something or someone. Megatron chewed at his lower lip, the grinding crunch of metal nearly as loud as his engine throttling with the former Decepticon's storming emotions.
Megatron's tics were eerily similar to Motormaster.
Breakdown had never seen it before.
Never acknowledged it.
He knew, but he never accepted.
Megatron had made their brother in a sick, twisted perversion of Optimus Prime. Motormaster was everything Prime wasn't. But so much of Motormaster was Megatron.
Motormaster had done everything to emulate Megatron since he'd been created. Breakdown well remembered how often Motormaster would posture himself exactly like Megatron whenever meetings would be called, his demeanor and scowl a mirror of the Decepticon leader. Whenever the Stunticons failed a mission, even if it wasn't their fault, Motormaster sulked and brooded for hours due to Megatron's reprimands.
Sometimes, Motormaster would use his elbow to jab Breakdown or his brothers to correct their posture if Megatron was passing by. He'd never been nice about it, and there were times that one of them had to retreat to Hook in the Victory's medical bay for repairs after a jab broke through their plating.
Drag Strip had suffered the jabs most often, to his repeated irritation.
All for Motormaster to turn his back on the one Cybertronian he'd placed on an unrealistic pedestal for Breakdown and the rest of the semi's brothers. Breakdown could not allow his brothers to be in the hands of G.H.O.S.T any longer.
A sentiment Megatron clearly agreed with.
"The Stunticons are my responsibility, Optimus, my creations. I won't sit idly by." Megatron bristled as he pushed himself further into Optimus' space.
Optimus pushed Megatron back with his right servo, the Prime's left servo gesturing towards the powered down monitor. "You've only just finished your probationary period, Megatron. Don't do anything rash with the government's leeway."
"Rash? Letting the humans keep the Stunticons is rash. I won't stand by it."
Before Optimus could respond, Megatron shoved past him — and towards the door Breakdown was peeking into.
Breakdown scrambled backwards, but too late.
Megatron slammed open the door, tearing the frame from Breakdown's grasp. Red optics met his own as Megatron's pede slammed against Breakdown, kicking him backwards into the hall.
"Breakdown?" Megatron's optics narrowed, though he did not seem angry as he looked down at him.
Breakdown scrambled to his pedes, aware of the sudden hitching of his coolant system at Megatron's closeness. "Lord Megatron, I didn't mean to overhear—"
A gentle servo on his shoulder plate silenced Breakdown. Megatron's gaze was soft, the red glow of his optics nothing similar to the anger Breakdown had seen in the former Decepticon moments earlier. A softness that turned conspiratorial as he leaned close to Breakdown.
"Get the Aerialbots. We're going to save your brothers."
Megatron and the Aerialbots soared above Breakdown, whose tires spun as he raced at his alt's limits. They were halfway to Pennsylvania, in the plains of Nebraska.
To Breakdown's knowledge, the remaining Autobots did not know of the plan Megatron and the Aerialbots had concocted with Breakdown. No message from Optimus had interrupted them, nor had any Autobot patrols stopped them. Not even after they'd raided the quartermaster's for weaponry that was very much not allowed off the Ark in this time of tense peace between Autobot and Decepticon.
Yet.
Rage awoke inside him.
A large, loud voice rattled inside his helm.
::. LOST… COMPONENT. MUST RETURN. .::
Menasor.
Breakdown's bond tugged him towards the… north. The instinct to combine lapped at his spark. Tugged at his processor.
But he shouldn't be able to hear Menasor.
Only Motormaster could hear Menasor.
Breakdown slowed. His engine sputtered as Menasor's presence grew… closer.
Oh, Primus.
"I feel something off in Superion. Something's coming." Fireflight's voice crackled through Breakdown's radio, the tremor in his voice almost masked by the scratchy hiss of the comms.
"I believe it is Menasor," Breakdown replied, before he could dwell too much on the fact his combiner was heading their way — and without Breakdown.
Combining without Wildrider had bewildered Menasor. How was he functioning with another component missing?
Was Breakdown going to be forced into fighting his brothers?
Megatron's voice cracked through their comms, but Breakdown heard none of what the tiltrotor had to say.
A cyclone of wind threw the Aerialbots and Megatron from the sky and buffered Breakdown into a tree, though his force field prevented any damage to himself.
But he was stunned.
Stunned long enough to watch Menasor crash to the ground before him. Breakdown's mouth curled when he spotted Menasor's right leg.
Swindle.
In his position.
Wildrider's gray frame was back in his proper position.
Wildrider was alive.
As was Superion, Breakdown realized, as the combiner stepped in front of him protectively. Menasor tensed as Superion drew his gun, his sword shifting in his servos as he aimed the point at his former rival.
"You are missing a component, Menasor," Superion sneered, his left pede moving to block Breakdown from Menasor's view. "Your new replacement doesn't fit you."
Rage slammed against Breakdown at Superion's words. The intensity of the field startled Breakdown. This was nothing like the fields of larger Cybertronians, such as Astrotrain, Motormaster, Megatron or Optimus Prime. Breakdown felt weighed down, sluggish, by the energy that pulsed from Menasor's field, as if the combiner was holding him down in water.
Being on the opposite end of his combiner was an experience Breakdown did not enjoy. He'd never thought to ask the other Decepticons or, later, Autobots what it felt like to be near a combiner, for he never had to concern himself over it. Now, he understood why the Autobots described Menasor as "intense".
His field was intense in its suffocating energy and weight, yet familiar. Breakdown could almost feel the distinctive and unique fields of his four brothers within Menasor's own unique field.
Menasor stomped his right pede closer to Superion, creating tremors through the ground with the heft of his tonnage. "I still function without my proper component," Menasor bit back, the scrunch of his nose bridge and mouth belaying the unhappiness that surged through the combiner's field.
Menasor missed Breakdown.
Superion smirked.
The Aerialbot combiner's field — much more manageable than Menasor's, with a controlled intensity that shadowed Breakdown, more than engulfed him — warmed with satisfaction. Superion wanted Menasor upset.
"Just as he functions without you. Did he ever want you in his processor?" Superion mocked. "Your other component relaxed when he combined with myself. Why wouldn't Breakdown be overjoyed to be free of you?"
The hurt that burst across Menasor's faceplate at Superion's taunts broke Breakdown's spark.
Menasor was one of his brothers. As impressionable and young as his five components. Excitable, bold, protective and so curious about the world. Sometimes Menasor could be a lot, but never to a degree that Breakdown would rather be rid of the young combiner.
"Superion," Breakdown warned, anger radiating off his field as he glared up at Superion's left arm. Slingshot's coarse attitude always seemed to be favored by Superion when the single-minded combiner was preparing for combat. Breakdown would have choice words with the jet once this was all—
Energon sprayed from Superion's left arm, the combiner's scream sky shattering as Menasor's sword impaled through Superion's forearm. Superion grabbed the sword, tearing it out of Slingshot only for Menasor to fire his cyclone gun directly at Superion's faceplate.
Superion's frame rocketed backwards at the fierce gale of wind. Sharp plating tore from the combiner's helm as Superion fell to his right knee, servos dug into the ground to stop his backwards momentum.
Wind battered Breakdown as he dodged back from Superion as the Aerialbot combiner slammed into Menasor above him. Sparks sprayed down from every hit the two combiners grazed off the other, though Menasor's rage was becoming uncontrolled with each strike Superion laid on him. Menasor only ever tolerated so many hits to himself, even during practice sparring sessions (thanks to Drag Strip's incessant brooding whenever they were beaten during sparring matches). This fight was no spar, nor was Menasor… himself.
The cyclone gun fired off burst after burst as Superion backed Menasor further from Breakdown. Menasor's shots missed, but left vortexes that tore trees from their roots and flung Breakdown about with ease. Only a heavy servo around his backstrut stopped Breakdown from being sucked into a vortex that a punch from Superion redirected in his general direction.
"You need to distract Menasor," Megatron's command growled over Breakdown's helm as the familiar roar of the former Decepticon's fusion cannon boomed around him.
The fusion burst hit Menasor's left optic, though his shielding prevented the shot from doing damage to Menasor. The damage may have been negligible, but Megatron had more than caught Menasor's attention.
Red, rage filled optics snapped onto Breakdown and Megatron.
"Move!"
Megatron shoved Breakdown to the side, just as Menasor's ionizer sword stabbed into the ground they'd been standing on seconds prior. Breakdown scrambled away, his instincts drawing his concussion rifle from subspace as Menasor yanked the sword from the ground. The combiner's optics narrowed on Breakdown, the point of the sword shifting until it pressed against Breakdown's chest plate.
Breakdown's spark froze.
Fusion blasts struck Menasor, to no apparent effect.
His optics trailed up the length of the ionizer sword's blade, until his gaze locked firmly onto Menasor's own. He could feel the combiner's anger. His betrayal.
The sword jerked back suddenly as large gray servos locked around Menasor's throat plating, tearing him away before Breakdown could process his next action. Superion drug the flailing Menasor away, leaving Breakdown to lower his rifle to his side with shaking servos.
He knew what he was supposed to do, why was it so hard to fight his brothers? Even the electromagnetic pulse emitter rifle in his subspace did little to reassure him. These were his brothers. He hadn't thought Croft would send them in their combined state to intercept himself, Megatron and the Aerialbots.
Clearly, he should have.
Fool.
Superion screamed.
Breakdown startled out of his thoughts, his concussion rifle turning up as he gawked at the sight before him.
Menasor's sword pierced through Superion's torso, ionized energy coursing through the stricken Aerialbot combiner's frame. Superion's rifle slammed to the ground as Menasor ripped his sword from the other combiner's torso, then stabbed Superion through the throat.
"No!" Breakdown felt the cry escape from him as Menasor slammed Superion against the ground.
The Lamborghini raced towards the two combiners as Menasor removed his sword from the crippled Superion. Menasor did not let Superion escape with a hard slam of his right pede to Superion's chest plate, pinning the Aerialbot combiner.
Breakdown scrambled up Superion's side, his servos finding every hold he could get until he stood on the combiner's chest. In front of Menasor's pede, and underneath the raging field of wrath pouring off Menasor.
"Menasor!" Breakdown kicked Menasor's right pede, where the yellow and purple leg — Breakdown could not comprehend how weird it was seeing another combiner's component in his position within the Menasor gestalt — was pressed against Superion's chest plate.
Menasor stopped, his pede lifting fractionally off Superion as the combiner's attention turned to focus fully on Breakdown. Red optics flared with emotions Breakdown couldn't place as Menasor leaned his helm down, until he was practically optic to optic with Breakdown.
"You left." Menasor's voice cracked as he spoke, the sorrow in his tone softening his voice to a whisper.
"I had no choice."
Menasor snarled, the heat of his breath billowing over Breakdown before the combiner jabbed him in the chest with one purple digit. Breakdown stumbled, nearly falling over onto Superion until he caught himself with hurried backpedaling. Menasor watched him, then leaned ever closer and growled, "You always have a choice. Breakdown chose to leave us."
Breakdown opened his mouth, but a surge of Menasor's field had him close his mouth. Betrayal surged around him, though his betrayal was nothing compared to the desperate yearning from Menasor. The combiner needed Breakdown back.
"I'm sorry," Breakdown breathed.
Menasor's optics narrowed watchfully on Breakdown. "Sorry? Why."
"For hurting you," Breakdown vented. "For leaving without you."
A snort of air breezed over Breakdown as Menasor tilted his helm at his answer, the combiner's left servo landing beside him, over Superion's chest plate. "You said you had no choice. How could you chose them," Menasor's denta bared into a snarl as he glared down at Superion, "over us? Over me? I can protect you. We always protect each other."
"Not from Croft."
Menasor's optics flickered at the human's name, a curve to his mouth that bordered on a hateful snarl. Breakdown had to push, before the combiner decided to pull away from him. With determination hard set into his backstrut, Breakdown stepped forward, then reached a servo up to Menasor's faceplate.
Cool metal met his palm.
Menasor's optics widened at Breakdown's touch.
A purr rumbled from Menasor's deep, diesel engine as he leaned into Breakdown's touch. Anger faded from the combiner's field, loosening the walls around the gestalt bond just enough.
::. Menasor. .::
Surprise returned in full force through the gestalt bond, but Menasor did not push Breakdown away. The combiner's heavy, electrical bond enveloped him, protecting him without hesitation. Menasor was always unwaveringly loyal.
::. I need you to lower your force field, please. .:: Breakdown sent trust and affection through the gestalt bond as he continued to look into Menasor's red optics, unable to waver as he urged Menasor to listen to him.
Menasor hesitated, his helm tilting slightly as he blinked down at Breakdown. ::. Superion is a threat. I can't lower my guard— .::
::. You defeated Superion, .:: Breakdown interjected, ::. You won. You don't need to keep your force field up. It's overbearing to me. .::
::. Oh. Of course. .:: Menasor's bond shrunk away from the Countach, as if he believed Breakdown was reprimanding him, but the combiner's force field waned.
Breakdown smiled, warmth flowing through the gestalt bond in thanks.
Menasor frowned, his optics shifting from Breakdown to Superion, who hadn't moved since Menasor's attack, then back to Breakdown. A vent escaped the combiner as he leaned closer to Breakdown, the trust he felt towards Breakdown—
A burst of fission energy smashed into Menasor's helm.
Pain burst through the gestalt bond as Menasor reeled back, his right servo clawing at his faceplate, where Megatron's shot had struck him. Breakdown could smell, and practically taste, the burning metal, a fact that had him turn his helm away when Megatron's fusion cannon snarled and released multiple shots against the combiner's faceplate — until Menasor fell apart, revealing his four brothers and Swindle.
Wildrider was first to his pedes, his optics a narrowed white fog as he lunged for Megatron. The tiltrotor slapped Wildrider away, only for the Ferrari to scramble back to his pedes practically instantly.
"Please… move." Superion's command snapped Breakdown's awareness to the injured combiner, who was trying to move. With an apology, Breakdown slid off the combiner just in time for Superion to split into his five components.
Silverbolt lay on the ground while Skydive tended to his injuries. Air Raid and Fireflight took flight, aiming for Dead End and Motormaster as both Stunticons raced towards the Aerialbots. Wildrider was slashing his sharp, clawed digits into Megatron's plating as the Decepticon leader attempted to stop the Ferrari's frenetic assault.
Yellow flashed past Breakdown as Drag Strip spun in a sharp u-turn in front of him, the Pagani's plasma energy blaster unfolding from its compartment as Drag Strip raced towards Breakdown.
One of the few weaknesses to the Stunticons' force field was an electromagnetic pulse. The very weapon Megatron had handed him before they'd left the Ark's armory. Pain mirrored his movements as Breakdown drew his blaster, then aimed its muzzle directly at Drag Strip.
Breakdown's digit was on the trigger, the round of electromagnetic pulse emitter aimed for the thin plating between Drag Strip's hood, then fired. The shot struck, the electricity that pulsed through Drag Strip's chassis throwing him out of his alt mode in a plume of dust and dirt.
::. I'm sorry, .:: Breakdown vented through the bond as he turned away from Drag Strip, his servos reloading the emitter as he searched for another one of his brothers. The emitter bursts would stun his brothers long enough that they could—
A heavy thunder roared behind him.
Breakdown turned—
Weight slammed into Breakdown.
Tires burned rubber against his faceplate and chest plate. Smoke clogged his intake and vents as a heavy weight pressed down on his chest plate.
Metal stained under pressure as Breakdown opened his optics to meet the purple faceplate of Motormaster.
Motormaster had rammed him.
His brother lifted his right pede off of Breakdown, smoke and heat hissing off the wheels of his cab that made up the semi's lower legs. Breakdown, his mind locked in fight mode even as he stared at his eldest brother, thrashed, sweeping Motormaster's right leg before the semi could place his pede to the ground to balance himself.
Breakdown felt his shin protest as it struck the side of Motormaster's leg plating. Motormaster stumbled, his right knee crashing to the ground as Breakdown scrambled onto his pedes.
And met the muzzle of Motormaster's cyclone gun.
Breakdown reacted without thinking, years of training with the semi kicking in as he shoved the muzzle away from himself, and dodged to the side. The cyclone gun did not fire. Instead, seeming to favor his weight over his weapons, Motormaster lunged for Breakdown with the servo now free of the subspaced cyclone gun. Breakdown's engine rattled with stress as Motormaster's digits scrapped his throat plating, missing strangling him only by Breakdown's reflexes jerking himself into his alt mode then out once he got some space between himself and Motormaster.
A snarl of rage preceded a furious lunge from Motormaster, his speed unexpected even for the years Breakdown had known Motormaster. Breakdown heard his engine whine, before a shockwave burst from his engine.
Warnings went off in Breakdown's inner sensors, alerting him to his force field offlining and needing a reboot before he could activate his force field again. He would be vulnerable without his force field, but so would Motormaster.
A groan from the semi had Breakdown tense, his blaster drawing down on Motormaster without a second thought. Motormaster rubbed at his helm, another pained growl escaping through Motormaster's clenched denta before he looked up to Breakdown, a bitterness in his field that blistered along Breakdown's backstrut.
Motormaster's optics narrowed on Breakdown. Hate and some other emotion warred across his gestalt field. Motormaster drew glared at the blaster aimed at his chest plate. White blazed as bright as the sun as Motormaster stalked towards Breakdown. His force field was down, Breakdown could tell by the dull energy where the semi's force field always emitted, leaving his brother vulnerable.
Far more vulnerable than a fully force field powered Drag Strip.
Primus, why had Croft forced this on them.
Breakdown didn't want to fight his brother. He didn't want to shoot his brothers.
"Don't, please," Breakdown pleaded as Motormaster stopped in front of him. The blaster in his servos shook as Motormaster towered over him. Shook as Motormaster's servo locked around his throat plating, choking Breakdown before he could react.
Rage blazed from Motormaster as he slammed Breakdown against the ground, his left pede slamming down onto Breakdown's chest plate. White optics stared down at Breakdown as Motormaster drew his gun from his subspace, his grip on Breakdown's throat plating receding.
The muzzle wavered for a moment, then turned to point directly down at Breakdown as Motormaster pressed his pede with enough force to make the metal of his chest plate creak. Motormaster's shadow engulfed the Lamborghini. He towered over him.
"Motormaster, please."
A snarl greeted his words, and nothing more.
Breakdown swallowed, his intake choked as he replayed the phantom sensation of Motormaster choking him.
Motormaster… shook.
His white optics narrowed.
The diesel engine inside the semi ticked over, a throaty rumble that accentuated the way Motormaster's frame shuddered imperceptibly as he moved his digit to the trigger on the cyclone gun.
Motormaster's cyclone gun shook in his right servo. Breakdown stared up at his brother, servo raised where he'd frozen stiff at Motormaster's attack. White optics bored into Breakdown as the muzzle of the cyclone gun pressed against Breakdown's chest plate.
"M-m-motormaster," Breakdown's voice cracked as he watched his brother's digit tighten ever further on the gun's trigger. "Please."
Motormaster's digit froze.
Violet optics widened with horror and confusion as he stared down at Breakdown.
"Breakdown?"
Breakdown reached his servo towards Motormaster slowly, a faint, reassuring smile—
Motormaster stiffened.
His optics flickered, the violet awareness of Breakdown's brother stiffening as his optics sparked between violet and empty white. Motormaster grit his denta together as he pressed his left servo to his helm. A shudder rattled through Motormaster's frame as his right servo pushed the muzzle of his gun against Breakdown with enough force to shove Breakdown into the soft soil.
"Please," Breakdown whispered, "don't."
Violet flashed back into the semi's optics, allowing Breakdown to see the chasm of sorrow lingering in his brother's optics. A chasm that was devoured within mere seconds as empty white overpowered the semi's optics.
Motormaster's servo slumped from his helm, falling stiffly at his side into a clenched fist.
His nose scrunched as the semi ground his denta together in a snarl that almost covered the sound of the fluid that welled at the rim of his optics.
Motormaster was crying.
Breakdown flinched.
His quiet pleading through the bond went unanswered.
The cyclone gun's cyclonic roar drowned every sound around Breakdown as it powered up. He waited, unable to move from his position as he watched his eldest brother's optics. Heat began to lick across his chest plate, but Breakdown paid no mind to it as the white, empty optics of his eldest brother flickered. The white faded until all Breakdown could see was violet.
Wiper fluid slipped down Motormaster's faceplate as he pulled—
Rotors roared above Breakdown, the screech of metal deafening him to all but a cry of pain from Motormaster, and the roar of the cyclone gun going off. Breakdown flinched as fine rocks, chewed up by the cyclone gun, dug into his faceplate.
The shot had missed.
Motormaster had pulled the trigger.
Breakdown's brother had almost deactivated him.
If not for… Megatron?
The Decepticon leader had Motormaster pinned, his fists pummeling the fighting semi repeatedly until Motormaster could do nothing more but take Megatron's fury. Megatron stopped, his fists drawing back until Breakdown saw Megatron shove his fusion cannon's muzzle under Motormaster's chin. Motormaster's violet optics flickered with fear as the fusion cannon thrummed to life, the palpable fear in his brother's gaze snapping Breakdown to his pedes.
"Megatron, no!"
Breakdown grabbed Megatron's right arm as he leapt to stand over Motormaster's prone form, an unwavering firmness in the stern glare he gave Megatron. "It's done. He can't fight back."
Megatron hesitated, his optics sharp with rage, before realization seemed to strike the Decepticon leader. His fusion cannon powered down as Megatron's right arm fell to his side, a flash of regret turning Megatron's optics dim. Breakdown waited, still positioned protectively over Motormaster, until Megatron stepped away from them both.
A weak, pained groan from behind Breakdown finally pulled his attention from the former Decepticon leader. Motormaster had not moved from where Megatron had struck him down. A deep cut slashed across Motormaster's nose ridge and faceplate, the gouges in his helm cowling following in a deep slash that had Breakdown cast a nervous glance towards Megatron. The blades of his tiltrotor alt mode were hidden in root mode, but Breakdown could not help but envision Megatron's rotors used against his brother with a shudder.
Energon seeped from Motormaster's wounds, prompting Breakdown to bend down and begin to tend to his brother's injuries. Motormaster flinched and growled when Breakdown's digits pressed the medical mesh he'd borrowed (stolen) from Ratchet's medical closet into the bleeding gash.
Motormaster's vents heaved as Breakdown worked, the semi's optics wavering from him only when Megatron kneeled down beside them both. Fear flooded Motormaster's field as Megatron took Breakdown's medical kit that he'd pulled from his subspace, then reached to help patch up the semi's injuries.
"Easy there," Megatron whispered as Motormaster jerked from his touch. Megatron released his touch from Motormaster, his servos raised placatingly.
Breakdown watched as Motormaster shied closer to him, though he startled when he felt Motormaster's large servo clasp onto Breakdown's right servo. Instinctively, Breakdown clenched his servo around Motormaster's servo, allowing his field to expand until its calming warmth engulfed the semi.
As they finished patching Motormaster's injuries, Breakdown turned to survey the area around him.
Amongst broken trees lay Dead End, smoke billowing from his engine as Air Raid slowly peeled himself off the ground from underneath the Porsche. Worry pulled Breakdown towards Dead End, but for Megatron stopping him with a firm servo on his arm.
"Stay with Motormaster." Megatron stood up, his grip on Breakdown falling away as he approached Air Raid and Dead End.
Breakdown followed Megatron's orders with some reluctance as he sat down beside Motormaster, instinct placing his left servo on his brother's shoulder plate. Motormaster hardly moved as he lay on the ground, the pain that spiked off his field the tell of why he had not moved an inch since Megatron had attacked him. Concern for his brother warred with a preservation instinct fighting Menasor, then Motormaster, forced into the Lamborghini.
He hated the way he hesitated.
He glanced past Motormaster, where Megatron had hefted Dead End into his arms, and his gaze stopped on the remaining Aerialbots picking themselves off the ground in various states of disrepair. Swindle was being pinned by Silverbolt, though the Combaticon seemed entirely out of it as he was lugged to his pedes.
Judging by the wariness Breakdown felt around Motormaster, and the subtle way Megatron kept Dead End's arms and legs entrapped within his arms, it wasn't just Breakdown who felt off around his brothers.
Dead End and Motormaster were… safe.
A secondary glance around the destroyed meadow left Breakdown's spark aching, for the gray and red of Wildrider, and Drag Strip's sunbright yellow, was missing. They'd… returned to Croft.
The Aerialbots were injured. Breakdown nearly deactivated, and they hadn't even been able to capture all of the Stunticons.
"Breakdown?"
The soft whisper pulled Breakdown from his mournful musing, the tilt of his helm slow with caution as he looked towards Motormaster.
The medical mesh that covered the semi's nose bridge and lower faceplate only amplified the confusion in Motormaster's purple optics. "I… didn't hurt you, did I?"
Breakdown hesitated, his expression falling at Motormaster's question. He wasn't harmed, technically. Not physically. But he'd almost deactivated Breakdown, if not for Megatron. Breakdown would be lying to his oldest brother if he assured the semi he hadn't hurt him. Lying would only mislead Motormaster.
But his brother's actions — all of his brothers, and himself, before he'd escaped G.H.O.S.T — had been because of Croft's mind control. It wasn't any of their choice.
A quiet vent steamed from Breakdown's fans before he met Motormaster's optics. His glossa tied at the sorrowed yearning, pained look that burned through the semi's violet optics. "I—"
"We don't have time." Megatron's growl made Breakdown scramble to his pedes in a frantic spin that nearly had him trip over himself.
The former Decepticon towered over him, Dead End tucked into his chest plate, his fusion cannon arm aimed vaguely towards Motormaster. The Aerialbots stepped around Megatron, Silverbolt bending down to heft Motormaster to his pedes. Motormaster hesitated as Silverbolt steadied him with his right servo, the semi's gaze shifting to Breakdown with fathomless pain.
Breakdown pushed forward to reassure Motormaster, but was stopped by Megatron. "We must leave. Can your team fly, Silverbolt?"
"Yes," Silverbolt didn't hesitate to answer, "we can."
"Carry Dead End and Breakdown. I will take Motormaster."
"Understood."
Breakdown held onto Dead End through the entire flight inside Silverbolt's cramped cabin space. His brother didn't stir or speak once, though the Porsche's frame relaxed minutely when Breakdown wrapped his arms around him, for his brother's and his own comfort.
First Aid's servos worked carefully as he buffed out the many dents in Breakdown's plating that had come from Motormaster ramming into him. Stunticon force fields were only so reliable against other Stunticons, Breakdown mused. He fidgeted in place as First Aid moved the rotary buffer to the rubber burn on Breakdown's chest plate. Quiet reassurance from First Aid had Breakdown swallow, then turn his helm away to watch the rest of the medical bay.
Ratchet and Hook continued to labor over Dead End, Motormaster and Swindle, each of whom was restrained to the medical berths. The two medics had placed the three Cybertronians under manual stasis once Megatron, Breakdown and the Aerialbots had hauled them into the Ark's medical bay, with Ratchet showing no interest in fighting all three of them while they were still under G.H.O.S.T's control. Repairs had been completed on all of the injured Aerialbots, Dead End and Motormaster by all three medics, before Ratchet and Hook had split off to deal with the anti-virus coding, and left First Aid to tend to the rest.
Breakdown had been approached last by his friend, a prolonged wait that had not helped Breakdown's anxiety. Even for the trust he held in First Aid, built over decades of the medic patiently biding time for Breakdown to work through his anxiety until Breakdown knew he could trust First Aid almost as if First Aid was one of his brothers, Breakdown could not relax.
Not because of the rotary buffer working over his frame, nor for the constant monitoring he knew he was under in the medical bay, but because of his brothers.
Dead End and Motormaster were back with him, but they did not feel correct. Even through their manual stasis, Breakdown felt the gestalt bond through his two brothers. Motormaster's bond thrummed with an energy that made Breakdown bristle. Danger. Continuous danger. Breakdown shook his helm as he stifled his closeness to Motormaster's, his servos twitching to scratch at his arm plating for relief from the bond.
Stepping into Dead End's bond, on the other servo, gave Breakdown the sensation of drowning. Apathy swarmed Breakdown the millisecond he approached Dead End's bond, the threat of the Porsche's bond's attempt to swallow Breakdown's individuality whole spooking him away from Dead End.
Motormaster's bond was uncomfortable, but not as dangerous as Dead End's.
Drag Strip and Wildrider's bonds were a void of emptiness still, completely empty even as Breakdown wandered his mind into the core of their bond. Primus, he missed them both. The absence of Wildrider's cheerful warmth left a hole in Breakdown's spark. Even the loss of Drag Strip's preening, though now centered with love for his brothers, left a vulnerable wound in the Lamborghini.
They had to get them back.
Breakdown couldn't imagine living without Wildrider or Drag Strip. His nightmare a few weeks ago of Motormaster dying had scared him enough. What would he do if Croft killed his missing brothers?
How could he—
"What can you feel in the gestalt bond?" First Aid's question startled Breakdown.
He straightened, optics narrowed as he glanced towards Motormaster and Dead End. Anxiety pulled at his engine, awakening it with a throaty, grinding snarl Breakdown did not notice as he tried to formulate a response for First Aid.
The sudden sensation of servos on his own stopped Breakdown's processor mid thought. First Aid peered at him as he held Breakdown's servos with a faint, gentle smile precluding the medic's field brushing Breakdown's. "That's alright."
Embarrassed at himself, Breakdown clamped down on his spiraling emotions, nodded to First Aid a mute thanks, then allowed the medic to finish his work. His processor wandered, even as he watched Ratchet and Hook tend to his two rescued brothers.
Somehow, he had to get Drag Strip and Wildrider.
Living without them was…
Breakdown curled his arms around his chest plate, hugging himself as fluid fell from his optics. As he cried, Breakdown barely noticed First Aid's arms around him in a hug, or his friend's gentle, whispers of reassurance.